Shades Of Normality
by The Awesome Novice Writer
Summary: It's the eighth quarter quell, and the tributes are all mentally disturbed. A story of inner turmoil, unlikely friendships, and finding identity.
1. Prologue

**Capitol**

If one were to walk into the President's office at any given moment, they'd expect him to either be talking to influential figures, doing some kind of Hunger Games preparation, or maybe even establishing some kind of anti-rebellion procedure. And to many, that's what they thought he did in some way or another.

So when Acely Vadess knocked on the door and heard the President respond for her to enter his base of operations, she deeply expected to see something that resembled Capitol business going on. Old men droning on about whatever it was that they talked about or something or other. After working with the previous ruler of Panem, President Delta, for nearly five years, it was what she came to expect.

It seemed that that woman never took a breather or enjoyed life. Instead, she focused exclusively on making the country run as smoothly as possible and was always engaged in some kind of argument with other Capitol higher ups. It was either that or she was out solving a crisis or something.

Up until her retirement, Acely was always running around to fetch someone or something for the former president. She eventually got used to seeing Capitol figures burst out of the presidential office in a fit, or hearing about district conspiracies, or having to fetch files and folders and other kinds of paper work bundles that sometimes weighed more than novels.

When the new president came into power, things had slowed down, and Acely was thankful that she could manage to get home and not collapse on her bed straight away. Things had become so relaxed that she was temporarily demoted to a common secretary. Not that she minded, she thought of it as a well-deserved vacation, because she knew that she'd be needed again. Maybe not for the president, but for her line of work in general.

And she was right. Just after the conclusion of last year's game, the president hired her to be his personal secretary.

Her fellow clerks had been bewildered when she got hired for that position a second time. The older clerks were even more surprised.

At only twenty eight years of age, Acely Vadess had worked with President Delta for five years, and had worked with President Booker for six months and counting. Jealousy ran deep with her co-workers.

It was hard work for sure, but it was what she lived for. She didn't waste her teen years partying it up, getting shit faced and abusing drugs and fucking every man she came across. She studied hard and was dedicated to her work. And she wouldn't of changed it for anything.

Acely thought that she could expect anything that was happening inside the president's office due to her past experiences with Ex-President Delta.

She what she didn't expect was to see the president sitting down on a pink, low plastic chair that was more suited for six year olds, accommodated by a pink plastic tea set, matching table, and five little girls that ranged between the ages of six to ten years old.

It was quite a shock to say the least. She had never seen a president not working while in the office. She had never seen kids in the office either. For a moment, she wondered if she had walked into the wrong office, or if it was bring your kids to work day, or if she was imagining things.

The woman blinked twice, and the kids, the plastic table, and the president were still in front of her.

"Mrs. Vadess. Welcome," President Booker said in a pleasant, fatherly voice. He flashed her a smile, which showed off something much less pleasant and warm. It showed off his only Capitol enhancement, razor sharp teeth that were longer and more pointed than normal human teeth. Teeth that looked more like it belonged on a wolf or bear. "Would you be interested in some tea? My girls make the best tea in the Capitol."

"Umm..." She hesitated, still getting over her surprise. Not from the teeth, but what he was sitting on, and who he was sitting in front of. "Maybe later." She then cleared her throat and brushed some cyan hair from her right eye as she got over her shock over seeing the president in such a situation. A situation that she never expected, and she had seen Ex-President Delta nearly create anarchy because of some seriously sleep deprived responses.

She swiftly changed her tone into a solemn and professional voice. A voice that she had learned from her mother when she had been training with her. A tone of voice that got her the respect of her employers. "Sir, your presence are required at the front of the manor."

"Is it that time already?" Booker asked with genuine surprise.

"I'm afraid it is, sir." Acely nodded, knowing that it was sometimes hard for hard working people to keep track of time even in the best circumstances. Normally it was from hard work, but right now, it seemed that it was from having fun. Not a typical thing in that line of work.

"Very well then."

President Booker proceeded to get out of the tiny chair before he sipped the rest of his tea, clearly enjoying it. When his cup was empty, Acely could see the disappointment in his face. _He really doesn't want to leave his kids,_ she thought.

"Sorry girls, daddy's got to do some work now." The girls started to voice their complaints, and they would have gone on for a while if their father hadn't raised his hand to silence them. It took the girls a few seconds to notice that gesture, but when they did, they stopped when they were finished with their sentences.

Acely seriously wished that she had that kind of power with annoyingly persistent people. There were times where she didn't want to talk, explain, or even say anything to someone. And they wouldn't take a word she said for an answer. Especially the higher ups who arrogantly thought that they could get what they wanted from her just by vocalizing their opinion. No matter how unreasonable. A majority of the time, they wouldn't even listen to her explanation, which she found very discriminatory.

Hell, she wished that Ex-President Delta had that kind of power with some of the people she had had to deal with.

Booker smiled down at them. "I'm just going outside to announce the quell," he explained patiently to them. "Won't take more than a moment. But if you want to come with-" With agility that Acely had never seen before, the five girls were out of their seats and by their father's side. "Me. Please pour the tea in the thermos for me." Brooke finished, unaffected by the speed of his daughters. Acely however, was wondering how they could move with such speed.

The girls did just that before they were once again by their father's side. "Lead the way Mrs. Vadess," Booker instructed before they navigated their way through the presidential palace, a place that Acely had learned well in her years of service to the Panem sovereignties, and soon found themselves outside of the manor, facing a large crowd of Capitol citizens and television cameras.

Booker smiled at the cameras before he told his girls to wait for him with Acely. As the president walked to the podium, Acely looked at the girls and wondered how the president could keep up with them. She had one child and was far younger than the father in front of her.

She never regretted having her kid, who was now eight years old, but she didn't think she could handle five. One was enough for her. Especially with the exceptional demands of her unique job. She didn't regret accepting the job either. She loved her job.

Aside from his teeth, President Booker wasn't an intimidating figure in her mind. Booker was tall and wiry with short black hair, and in his late thirties, he was young for a president. How he could do his work and keep up with five kids on his own was beyond her.

One of the president's kids offered her some tea, and she gratefully accepted it with her marshmallow coloured hand.

Looking at the tea and its dark orange colour, she could tell that the tea bags had been soaking in the water for quite a while, and it was going to be quite strong. She blew on the hot liquid to cool it down before she took a sip of it. Expecting it to have a harsh and overwhelming flavor.

Instead, what she got was a very smooth and glowing taste. It wasn't bad, if only because she thought it could do with some creamer in it. She thanked the kid for her kindness, who gave her a wide smile before turning back to her father. Acely did the same.

On stage, President Booker pulled a slip of paper from an aged box that was being held by a boy of no more than ten decked out in an all white suit. Silence engulfed the air as Booker unfolded the piece of paper and read the quell everyone was waiting for.

She was just as anxious to hear what the quell could be. It was probably going to be something spectacular. Of course, every quell was spectacular, some more than others though.

She had heard that the tributes in each quell had created problems for the gamemakers, but they never did make it too big of a deal. The gamemakers just needed to fix some things, and the game went on. So even if the tributes created a little trouble, the Capitol put them back in their place.

Just like during the third quarter quell, the worst quell in history. That was the quell when rebel forces were at the peak of their power. They became brave and had the delusion that they'd be able to defeat the Capitol, all because couple of sixteen year olds managed to get out of the seventy fourth Hunger Games.

If two kids were able to get the Capitol to submit to their whims, why couldn't others? Because of those two, the rebels thought that the unstoppable Capitol wasn't all that invincible. They were wrong, for every plan, every team, has a weakness. And in the case for the mockingjay's alliance, it was Finnick Odair.

The president during that era blackmailed the District Four victor into betraying the rebels by placing the life of Annie Cresta in danger. He had a choice. Either kill the rebel's plan's, or have Annie dead. He choose the former.

During the bloodbath of the seventy fifth Hunger Games, Finnick swam over to Katniss, removed her floating device, and pulled her underwater until she drowned to death.

But that still wasn't enough. Though the rebel's symbol was gone, there was still a chance of the rebellion continuing even after the mocking jay's death. So when the rest of the alliance got together, Finnick proceeded to skewer Beetee with his trident. And with his death, there was no way for the tributes to escape the arena.

With Finnick's betrayal reveled to his alliance, they proceeded to murder him. And then one by one, everyone died in the arena until only one was left alive.

If the Capitol could find a way to stop multiple districts from rebelling, they could stop a few tributes from causing trouble in the arena.

"For the eighth quarter quell, to remind the rebels of the emotional trauma that was inflected upon our children, each district shall be required to send in tributes with mental disorders!"

At hearing that they were sending in tributes with mental disorders, Acely spat out the tea in her mouth. She knew what that meant.

The general audience didn't at first, but then they caught up with her mind, and applauded and cheered like never before.

They had seen unstable tributes before, and they gave them the best entertainment. Those crazy, unstable psychopaths provided unique kills and gave out the goriest deaths. Sometimes those from the non-career districts were better fighters than the careers. To see twenty four of them in the arena was going to be a real treat for them. She could picture it now, twenty four of the greatest tributes the games had ever seen, all in one area.

To say that she was ecstatic would have been an understatement.

Acely clapped her hands as the president bowed before the nation and exited the stage, coming once again into the arms of his daughters. The girls handed him his thermos of tea before they started to go back to the presidential office.

"I must say Mr. President," Acely said with a wide smile on her face. "I think this quell will be the best one yet. We're sure to get a most wonderful show." After all, how could the games not go well with the tributes they were going to reap?

"Yes," President Booker muttered in a tone that was both sarcastic and authentic. "A most wonderful show."

"Something the matter sir?" Acely asked, noting the mixture of sarcasm. She wondered what he was thinking. He didn't seem to be enjoying himself as much as everyone else in the Capitol seemed to be. Even his daughters were giving out bright smiles, and while he was giving them a smile as well, he wasn't doing it as fondly as before. It was like his mind was somewhere else.

"No," Booker answered simply. Acely knew that it was a lie, but didn't say anything.

"Of course, sir."

* * *

All around the districts of Panem, when the announcement was made, fear ran dry for those that weren't mentally ill. It meant that they weren't going to get reaped, and that they could enjoy life for at least another year. The mentally sane eighteen year olds were going to celebrate early, showing that they had beaten the Hunger Games by out living them. And they did it with pride.

Career teens were disappointed because they wouldn't get a chance to volunteer, but they also knew that they might get rid of some of the district's low lives. Kids that they thought were below them because of what they were. Unfit specimens that couldn't handle the harsh world they lived in.

And for most the families of the mentally ill, fear ran deep. Their sons and daughters were at increased risk of getting picked, and they knew that they more than likely wouldn't return home if reaped. After all, they were called disabled for a reason. Whatever they had, they'd be at a major disadvantage because of it.

The ill tried to tell themselves that they'd be all right, that as long as they had their medicine that they were going to at least have a fighting chance. They were still scared, because they were being targeted. They were a minority. They had a much smaller reaping pool. They had a much higher chance of getting picked and they knew it.

That terror developed into something even more when peacekeepers, on the orders of the president, stormed their homes in the middle of the night and took any medication they could find by force.

While some gave up without a struggle, many mentally ill kids and their parents alike fought the peacekeepers with all their might. But it was all for naught, because while the common people fought back with tools and improvised weapons, the peacekeepers with their armour, shields, firearms, and tactical weapons, were able to subdue even the fiercest fighter they came against.

With the rebelling forces defeated, many beaten bloody and bruised, the peacekeepers deemed it punishable by three generations of death if anyone was caught selling medication to anyone that was mentally ill.

And so, the kids were going to have to face the full force of their inner demons, and the care givers were going to have to struggle with the harsh challenges that they hoped they had put behind them.

 **A/N: Beta read by A.I.T. - Author In Training.**


	2. Day Before The Reapings Part 1

**District 12**

She found him in the streets.

More of a back ally really, but that didn't matter much to Clemency Burnout as she looked down at the awful sight in front of her.

Wearing a filthy set of clothes that were covered with dirt, grime, and mud, the boy in front of her paid little attention as he inhaled acrid smoke from a crude, homemade pipe. Around him were numerous glass bottles, both full and not. And even though it was raining excessively and his butt and legs were slowly sinking into the wet ground, the boy didn't seem to have a care in the world.

She knew better though.

The boy started to give out dry, rasping coughs that sounded painful to hear as clouds of smoke blew from his mouth. In the stuttered flashes of light from the overhead bulb, she could see the dark purple rings around his eyes and the red caterpillars outside his Seam grey irises. His skin the colour of dirt and his wet shoulder length hair the colour and consistency of tar while his stubble was coarse and short. All those were placed on a bony face that had the looks of someone young mixed in with elderly features.

The boy sighed before he pocketed the piece of metal and took a deep pull from a bottle of auburn liquid.

"Ryan." The woman said carefully with worry in her voice. The boy simply looked at her before he spat on the ground and once again, pulled something out of his tattered brown jacket. It was a small package with a tiny hole in the corner. Ryan shook the rectangular container until a white cylinder popped out of the hole. He pulled it out with his teeth before returning the package to his pocket.

"What the hell do you want?" He growled before he lit the cigarette with his lighter. With the new source of light, the older woman was able to see red ravines on her son's neck. They were fresh enough that they were still oozing blood from their source.

She looked at the substances in front of her, around the guy, and thought of how all of them were illegal for an eighteen year old. If a peacekeeper had happened to show up instead of her, it would have ended differently. It would have ended in tragedy.

"Ryan," she said gently, like talking to a young child. "Where did you get those?"

Ryan breathed out vaporized chemicals before he spat out his answer,

"Why do you care, woman?"

"I'm your mother," she answered, hurt by the words of her son. "I have a right to care."

"Some mother you are then, I guess," he hissed before he took another long pull of the harsh liquid in a bottle. Clemency couldn't help but feel a punch to the chest when she heard that. "Where the fuck were you anyway? Why the fuck weren't you home when you said you were going to be?"

"Ryan," she said as she tried to hold back tears. "I was-"

"At work," Ryan interjected harshly as he scooped up the non-empty liquor bottles and placed them in his jacket pockets. "Right. Sure. Whatever."

"Come home," Clemency begged, feeling tears leaking from her eyes.

"Why?" Her son asked loudly. "So you can leave me again?" Ryan then pulled the jacket's hood over his head, hiding the fresh, deep slashes in the side of his neck before standing up and walking away from his mother. "Fuck off," he snarled before shoving the much smaller woman to the ground. Her back landed in the fresh mud with a barely audible crack.

Clemency would later find out that she had twisted her right arm, but the pain of seeing her son stomping away from her hurt a lot more than a twisted arm. It hurt her to her very core. It hurt her mentally and physically.

As Ryan took his anger out on the litter bins in his way and screamed profanity, Clemency knew that it wasn't his fault. Just about everyone in the district told her that she needed to get her son under control. But it wasn't that easy. She knew more about mental disorders than just about anyone else in District Twelve.

Her husband had died because of depression. Killed himself to end his pain. No amount of love and affection could get him out of his dark place. Before, she would of told her son to tough it out, but after living with Kolton Burnout and his depression, she knew that you couldn't just tough it out. Her late husband had became a cave in, but she was desperate to not let her black out son become a cave in.

Feeling numb on both the inside and out, not just because of the chilling weather that had soaked through her clothes and to her bone, Clemency slowly got to her feet, and with great determination and love, followed her son from a distance. All she needed to do was follow the sound of enraged voices of fellow lamp stamp members yelling about how it was not even three in the morning, and Ryan retaliating with some yelling of his own.

* * *

They were having trouble staying awake.

It was lunch time at school, and yet, she noticed that many of the lamp stamp kids were having trouble staying awake. Their backs were slightly hunched over and their eyes a little more unfocused than their regular setting. They yawned and some looked like they'd rather be sleeping than eating their meager lunches.

She had heard that it was because of a disturbance that had occurred in the night. It didn't come as a surprise to her, because ever since the quell was announced, the district seemed a little more bleak and chaotic than normal. No thanks to the peacekeepers and their raids six months ago in addition to the ban on medications.

The girl looked to her right and saw her friend. She, unlike the lamp stamp kids, was actually sleeping, and it wasn't because of last night's disruption. No. They lived in the dime shine section of the district. The reason Ashton Meeker was face down in her pudding was because she had another one of her sleep attacks.

Fay gently lifted her friend's head up and placed it in such a position so that she wouldn't suffocate on her food. Fay then wiped off the light yellow cream off her friend's face and brushed strands of bright, blond hair from her ivory face, all the while, Ashton never noticed due to the deep sleep she was in.

It was like taking care of a baby sometimes. The young girl would look after her scraggly friend when her parents weren't around, making sure she didn't hurt herself or die. She'd help her with her homework and tell her what she missed and what not. They were friends, but she felt more like a caretaker at times. And it was because of those spontaneous acts of falling asleep.

And awake, she was hardly better. Always drowsy, slightly confused, and slow. And anxious. Always anxious. It was annoying, stressful, and unhelpful to no end. It cut into her concentration and made her worry. Having to look over your shoulder to see if her friend had fallen down and broken her nose again gets tiresome and frustrating at times. And when she had to haul her to places, she didn't even want to think of all the trouble she had to put up with.

"All fifteen year olds back to your classes!" A teacher announced to the lunch room. "I repeat! All fifteen year olds back to your classes!" Many lamp stamp students groaned, but sluggishly got out of their seats and made their way out of the room. Some dragging their feet along the way. Fay only wished that her friend was that fast.

"Ashton." She said with a little edge in her voice as she nudged her friend. "Ashton. Wake up. Time to get to class."

Her friend didn't make any movements to get out of her seat. Instead, all she did was continue to softly breathe in and out, undisturbed by the world around her. "Ashton. Really." Fay said with venom in her voice, shaking her friend even harder. "Get. Up!" But of course, she didn't.

Fay growled irritatingly at her friend before she grabbed their backpacks and headed off to her afternoon class, leaving her friend behind. She didn't feel like dragging her to the class room. Not today.

She wasn't worried. Ashton didn't bring anything valuable with her in the case she got robbed. Also, she knew that her friend would still be in the same seat when she got back.

 **District 11**

He was staring at the sky.

The peacekeeper was going on his routine speech of how much produce they were supposed to collect and who was going to do what and where. Virtually everyone was giving their undivided attention. But out of the corner of his eye, Bean Calloway noticed that his stocky son was watching whatever was going on up in the sky in a daze.

Bean continued to listen on as the peacekeeper announced the schedule. Having done virtually the same thing nearly every day, he read from his electronic device with a dry and deadpan voice until he had gone through all the names.

"All right! Dismissed!" The peacekeeper barked, causing Trail Calloway to snap back to attention.

"Huh?" He muttered as his eyes came back into focus, a string of droll sliding down his chin. "What? What happened?"

"He just told us our duties," the father told his son as the workers started to disperse. "Today we're doing wheat sorting."

"I see," Trail said as he scratched the back of his shaved head. A small flap of sunburnt skin grew in size as it continued to tear across his dark neck.

Bean then lead his sixteen year old son to their designated section before he asked him if he knew what he was supposed to do, "Of course I know what to do." Trail told him. "I've just got to cut down these wheat, tie them into a bundle, and place them in a pile."

"That's right." Bean nodded, glad that Trail at least knew how to do the job. "Now son, I know that it might be difficult for you, but I need you to try your best not to get distracted."

"I'll try dad." The teenager sighed. He had told his son this a hundred times. Maybe more. It seemed that they were both tired of hearing it. He knew he was.

"That's all I ask," the father replied before they got to their section of the field.

Bean went over to another a pile of machetes and coils of thin wire and collected what he thought was enough for the job. He examined the machetes to make sure that they were sharp enough to cut through the plants and that the wire was able to bend properly. Both items were satisfactory.

Bean then walked back to his son and handed him his share of equipment. "Now son, here's the plan of attack. We're going to start at the end of each of our rows, which are rows twelve through sixteen, and work our way towards the middle, where we'll meet each other before moving onto the next row. You all right with that?"

"Yeah. Sure," Trail stated, before he turned around and slashed at the center of the wheat row.

"Son!" Bean shouted, frustrated that the plan was already going downhill, before Trail turned around with a look on his face that said that he didn't know what he had done wrong.

"What?" He asked with genuine confusion.

"Did you hear me?" He asked, not with anger, but with disappointment.

"Yes."

Bean sighed before he rephrased his question.

"Did you listen to me?"

"Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhhh." Trail drawled, still not seeing the problem.

"So why are you starting at the center?"

"Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing?"

Bean looked behind him, and saw that duo behind him were starting from the center and making their way to the sides. He could now understood how his son had misinterpreted his instructions, among other things.

"No son," he sighed. "It's not."

Bean re-explained himself and even walked his son to the left end of the row before he watched him work for a shade less than a minute. He thought that his son should be able to handle the work, at least until he checked up on him again.

Bean then headed off to do his own side of the row. But as he went, he knew that he wouldn't be meeting his son in the middle. Like so many other times, Trail would get distracted, or bored with the task, and probably wonder off. Maybe he'd even lose some wire coils. If he decided to go and start some other task with someone else, he probably wouldn't even remember what he was originally doing until much later. And if he somehow did manage to stay on task, he worked slowly. Day dream, or just move slowly in general. And as always, it would place additional burden on his shoulders.

Trail didn't go to school. He had dropped out. And because of that, the struggles of the morning had just transitioned from teacher to working father.

The man took that into consideration, and spun around to head back to his son with a sigh, knowing that Trail didn't work very well in tracker hives anyway. "Change of plans son!" He announced.

"What? Already?"

* * *

They finally found her.

When they had returned home, they had expected to see her waiting for them. Instead, they were greeted by an empty home with one less daughter than they should have had. They waited for her, but when a length of time had passed, they began to get fearful. They sought out her friends, and learned that she had simply vanished, leaving them to complete her work so that the authorities didn't create chaos.

Fearing the worst, the family consisting of two parents and two younger sisters began their frantic search.

They went around their section of the district, started with her last known location, and found that people had seen her wondering out of their zone when she should of been working. The onlookers didn't stop her because they thought that she had been doing something relating to her job. As their search broadened, they found themselves leaving the area they were all so familiar with.

The farther they got, the more worried they got. When they asked people if they had seen their daughter and gave her name. They told the family that they hadn't talked to someone with that name. When shown a picture, they said they had seen her and pointed them in the right direction.

Eventually, they ended up in the center of District Eleven, the home of the rich, and of something that sent terror down the spines of the citizens. Something that nobody wanted to antagonize. They hoped that it wouldn't come to that. For if it did, they'd have one less family member.

"Have you seen this girl?" The father asked as he shoved a slightly faded photo of a muscular, soft faced, seventeen year old girl with sleek black hair and a brown complexion into the citizen's face. He didn't even bother using her name, as everyone had known her as something else.

"Yeah, I did," the woman answered, taken back by the rough nature of the man. "She headed towards the east side of town. Though I can't see why because the only thing there is the-" She didn't get to finish by the time the family was sprinting towards their destination.

He hoped that they weren't too late. They couldn't be too late. He kept on telling himself that as he ran.

Tired and sweat stained, they rounded a corner, and saw their target in front of them. Walking towards a menacing fortress of stone, steel and wood, surrounded by high towers and rows of electrified chain link fences.

The teenage girl casually strolled towards the fortress as monstrous dogs that looked more wild than tamed barked and snarled. Their chains seemed to just barely hold them back.

The girl continued to approach the building until she was tackled by her entire family, causing all of them to collapse to the ground with a thud.

"Don't go there, Soya!" The mother yelled as they picked the girl up and dragged her away from the sinister foundation.

"What?" The girl asked with terror and confusion. "Who are you people? I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not Soya."

"Stop that," the mother cried, not wanting to hear it. "You know who you are. You're Soya Boykin, and we're your family."

"Well this is the first time the family has been misled by my identical features to Soya." The girl muttered before she started to fight off her family members. "Get off me. Get off." They didn't.

"What the hell were you thinking?" One of the sisters asked in wonder, looking back at the building behind her. "Going to the peacekeeper's wire ground."

"I-" The older sister started, but couldn't come up with a reason. "I don't know. I just had a strong desire to head towards it. It was like it was calling me."

"Soya," the father began, but was cut off by his daughter.

"My name is not Soya."

"Then what is your name?" He asked.

"It's..." She started, but couldn't figure out what her name was. "It's..." She strained hard to think, but couldn't come up with a name. "I don't know." She cried before the waterworks turned on. "I don't know who I am. Everyone back at that place thought I was Soya, but I can't be her. Can I?"

And with that, the somewhat relieved family guided their perplexed and sorrow filled daughter and sister on the long journey back home. And though they were thankful that she was alive, they thought of the extra effort they had to go through for her.

 **District 10**

It was an ideal day for a cool drink.

While many would consider their drink of choice clean water, or maybe even some milk, the girl sitting on the wooden fence was drinking clear liquid that was neither cold nor smooth.

Taking another sip from the mason jar, the girl forced the revolting liquid down her throat. She shook her head vigorously and exhaled heavily. With her free hand, she held a piece of long, jagged glass in front of her and stared at her reflection.

The sight was a little disturbing considering that the girl was only slightly taller than five feet high and she looked more like she was thirteen than her respected seventeen years of age despite her toned body.

"I remember when my skin was of lighter colouring." The girl sadly stated as her parents approached her from behind. She continued to look at her heavily tanned skin. "When was that? January? February?"

"Mink," the father said smoothly. "Why are you drinking in the middle of the day?"

"And where did you get it?" The mother added.

They were both worried, anyone could see that, but all the girl did was chuckle. She hadn't been the same since three days ago when she started to wander away from her work, away from home, and generally becoming avoidant.

From the little times he'd seen his little girl, he saw that she was down and questioning herself. He knew what that meant. But at the same time, this was something different than just a weird situation.

"I've been thinking," the girl slurred as she swung her feet dispassionately as a breeze brushed her curly, light brown hair to the side. "Who am I?"

"You're our daughter," the father told her, not knowing what to say. Though this had happened before, he never did know what to say when the sort of thing occurred.

"Yeah," the girl stated. "But who am I?"

The husband and wife looked at each other before answering.

"You're Mink Prather," the man answered once again.

"But am I THE Mink Prather?" The daughter asked before she took another sip of the vile drink, shaking her head to make it go down. Both parents looked back and forth between their daughter, who just continued to stare at the open fields populated with animals. They didn't know what she was talking about, so she continued. "I don't remember times of my life. And today, I realized I never had a birthday. My own birthday. And people have been looking at me different ever since I came out of that haze." She chuckled again. "You know what my friend Nox asked today?"

Both parents didn't answer, just shook their heads. She didn't see it, but she took the silence as an indication to continue. "She asked me who I was today. Can you believe that?"

Both parents winced. Her father began to think of how he had thought that everything was fine, about how nobody had noticed the changes in his daughter. But because of the quell announcement, people started to look at those who acted different like, well, different people. No doubt they were suspicious of his daughter, and because of her slight attitude change, had put two and two together.

"Why would she say that?" The father asked, trying not to make things more troublesome. Mink was in a state, and that in itself was saying something.

"You tell me." Mink stated as she continued to swing her feet. "You're the one that knows Mink Prather. And Mink Prather. And maybe Mink Prather as well."

"You are Mink though," he reasoned.

"Am I dad?" She harshly asked. "Am I?"

"Yes you are," he said gently, and with more than just a hint of truth. "And nothing will ever change that."

He thought of hugging her, but fearing the retaliation that he may or may not get, he stopped himself, wondering if he made the right choice or not. All the while, the white liquor in the little girl's hands slowly got consumed.

* * *

It was supposed to be a simple trip to the market.

The plan had been to pick up some food and supplies, then return home. It was easy, routine, and safe. What wasn't supposed to happen was a violent outbreak between her brother and her boyfriend.

They had been talking. Just talking. But something snapped in Falco Naylar, and now her fifteen year old brother was fighting her much bigger eighteen year old boyfriend.

Falco was swinging with all his might, but he was never the strongest fifteen year old in District Ten, and it was clear as day that he wouldn't be winning the fight. Even so, he continued to throw his body around like a wild child.

"I'll kill you!" Falco threatened through a wide mouth full of blood, struggling against the headlock he was in. "I'll kill you!"

"Like hell you will!" The boyfriend shouted as he continued to pound in the younger boy's face.

"Stop it!" The girl screamed as she tried feebly to pry the two apart. "Stop it! Both of you!"

"Fuck you!" The bloody mouthed kid yelled, twisting, turning, punching, and kicking every which way, hitting everything around him more than his intended target.

She hated seeing them fighting. It hurt her to see the two of them trying to beat each other into submission. To make it worse, it was out in public where many people were watching. She was embarrassed, but far more angry than anything else. Angry that the fight had started, and angry that they weren't stopping when she asked them to.

"I said," he growled, before she shoved her boyfriend off her brother. "STOP IT!" With her brother free and the bigger man off him, she yanked her brother away until he was behind her. He tried to rush past her, but she wouldn't allow it. "What the hell was that all about?" She shouted to her brother, wanting to understand what made him act out.

"He was going to hurt you! Maybe even molest you!" Falco argued before spitting out crimson. She could hear muttering around the gathered audience. She did her best to ignore them as her ears started to burn.

"What would make you think that?" She asked her brother as her boyfriend got to his feet.

"He's been scanning out our home," Falco told her, running his tanned hand through his messy brown hair. "Been looking for entrances to the house, watching everyone's sleeping pattern and when we leave for work and-"

"Bullshit!" The older teen snapped.

"That means he's been spying on us," the younger teen continued, ignoring the older boy. "Plus there are those bruises you get after hanging out with him."

"Those bruises are from her work you little shit," the boyfriend snarled.

"And you're a liar."

"We work together," the sister told her brother. "And the bruises are from work."

"Why are you defending him?" Falco yelled as he threw his hands up in the air. "Are you afraid that if you break up with him he'll break you?" Before she could answer, a voice interrupted her.

"She won't have to worry about that," her boyfriend said before turning to look her in the eyes. "Hilly, we're done." The girl gasped before her ex-boyfriend spun around and stomped away.

"And stay away from us! She isn't your pony!"

"Shush!" Hilly hissed to her brother before pulling him away from the muttering audience, her face a dark shade of red from anger and humiliation. "Let's go!"

Hilly would like to say that she wasn't surprised, but she was. She had expected it a little, but she didn't want to believe that it would happen again. She had lost people before because of her brother. They didn't like that he suspected people of spying on them, or speculating that they wanted to hurt him or her or her family.

She should have seen it. And she had seen it. She just didn't think that it was towards her used to be boyfriend. Those faint signs of paranoia that she had witnessed, she should of seen it coming. Falco looking out the windows from time to time, him thinking that the animals and birds were people sneaking around the property, the way that he told her to be careful whenever she went out.

She was pissed. Her man of nine months had left her because of the delusional thoughts of her little brother.

Falco had been behaving so well. He had been around her man before, and everything seemed to be normal. She had loved thinking that. But she now knew that it was nothing more than just a fantasy.

 **District 9**

They were awoken by a terrible scream.

It was quickly followed by the sound of frightened screams of little children. The sound of metal hitting the hard floor was heard and the two adults rushed out of bed to see what was going on.

They were worried about their kids' safety, and from the shout they had heard, something was definitely wrong. The man grabbed the work sickle he kept by his bed, ready to defend his family, when he instructed his wife to get behind him, just in case. She did, and the husband exited the bedroom door, weapon raised over his head and ready to strike.

He expected to see a robber, or some of those crazy freaks that might be running around. Instead, he saw his son, crying and laughing feverishly. His dark curly hair was untidy. He looked around, and saw a machete on the floor. He then looked back to his son, and saw that one of the range burners was glowing red.

His wife went to pick up the machete when he shouted

"Don't touch that!" The woman stopped in her tracks and looked at him with a confused look. "It's hot," he explained before he looked back to his son.

In his son's right hand was a thick leather glove, and his left arm was pressing against his chest.

"What a. Rush. That is." He chuckled.

"Son," the father asked fearful of what had happened. "What happened?"

"Something. To keep. Myself. Awake." He answered, chuckling again, smiling proudly, showing his crooked and yellow stained teeth. His dark brown eyes were both alert and sleepy.

The father looked between his son, the machete, and the stove, and came up with an idea of what happened, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Show me your arm son," he demanded.

"No," his son stated.

"Show me your fucking arm boy!" He roared.

"No!" He son screamed back. The father, angry at what his son might have done, charged towards him, and before the fifteen year old could get away, the large man grabbed his arm and ripped it from his chest. What became visible made his wife gasp in shock and sent chills down his spine.

On Harvey Salvador's pale and slightly translucent brown arm was an enraged red mark in the shape of a rectangle. A tiny bit of skin was peeling off and swelling. The boy tried to get out of his father's grip, but couldn't.

"Why, Harvey?" The mother asked as her two almost teenage sons peeked around the corner to see what all the commotion was about. "Why?"

"To stay awake," the son answered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"But why?"

"To keep the nightmares-"

"Enough with the nightmares bullshit," the father snarled. "They're just dreams, get over it. Go to fucking sleep and face them like a man."

"Fuck you dad!" Harvey snapped before he kneed him in the crouch. The man yelped as he dropped to his knees. He still wouldn't let go of his son's arm, so the boy smashed his fist into his father's face. The man's grip loosened, and he ripped his hand from his grasp before running out the door.

As his son ran in the night, he could hear him yelling. "You don't understand! You don't understand!"

While he stared out the door, he knew that his son was going to buy some of that self-destructive material that would keep him awake for days.

* * *

She saw them talking.

There were four of them. One of them was an attractive, tall, red headed girl flanked by her two friends. They were smiling, giggling, and from what she could feel, up to no good. The girl that they were talking to was her twin sister, who maintained a stoic look of disinterest.

It was just one of those things that she felt. She couldn't explain it other than feeling a connection to her twin. Something spiritual or something like that. And the sensation she was experiencing at the current moment felt insidious.

The teen girl turned to her friend and excused herself politely before she silently made her way towards her sister.

"So it's true then," the red haired girl said with a smile that was more malevolent than warm. "You're off your meds."

"What's your point?" The lone girl asked with indifference as she lit up a cigarette. It was a disgusting habit that the sister did not approve of, but never said anything about.

"It means that your crazy, doesn't it," the red haired girl stated. "Shouldn't you be locked in a cage or something?"

"Hey!" The sister that was listening shouted before she came to her sister's side. "That's my sister you're talking to!" The leader of the trio looked at the two sisters in surprise. It wasn't too surprising to her. Though they were twins, they looked different. Her sister was shorter, had short, bleach blonde hair with a slim tanned figure, green eyes, and a spray of freckles from cheek bone to cheek bone. While she had slightly longer black hair, a curvy and brown complexion with dark eyes. And though they were both eighteen, the dark haired sister looked like she was in her early twenties and exceptionally beautiful.

The flat chested and androgynous sister, Zora Bitseed, turned her bloodshot eyes with dilated pupils, to her sister before they returned to the red haired tormentor, her eyes flashed with rage as her teeth pressed together tightly.

"I'm sorry," she said in a mock apology. "Should I book a cage for two?" Her companions giggled and Rowan felt her teeth clamp together and her body tense up.

Zora blew a thick cloud of smoke into the trio's leader's face, causing her to cough and fan her face with her hand. "The fuck bitch?" She coughed. Zora shrugged before taking another drag of her cancer stick. Her facial expression was now one of barely subdued fury.

"Don't think that you're superior to my sister just because you don't have to take pills!" Rowan screamed. The girls just ignored her and focused on each other. The red haired girl was enraged, Zora scowled at her.

"Are you getting angry? Do you want to kill me? Is that it?"

"Enough!" Rowan shouted, feeling her face turn red at her comment. A crowd of people started to gather, what they were whispering about Rowan did not want to know. "Leave her alone!"

She thought of how it was a bad idea to bring Zora to the party. She just wanted her sister to get out of the house and not be alone with mom and dad away working late because she knew of the activities her sister participated in. She didn't want it to be just her friend and her, so she invited her sister. She now saw that it was the wrong thing to do. She had thought about it before the invitation, but she thought that Zora staying home alone would have been worse.

"Yeah. I've got a mental condition. Does that automatically make me an unstable mass murderer?" Zora asked furiously before she took a pull of bright, golden liquid from a small glass bottle. The red haired girl was about to respond when Zora spat out a spray of strong liquor. The liquor splashed off over the girl's face and stained her chest.

The bully gave out a surprised gasp and looked at Zora with wide eyes and an open mouth. She was clearly not expecting that, but Rowan thought she deserved it.

"Look what you did to my-" the bully started, but stopped when the sound of a steel cased lighter was snapped open and flint grinding against steel occurred. Rowan flinched at that sound. "WAIT!" She screamed before the upper section of her body combusted.

Her screams of hysteria were joined by others as she ran around and tried to smack it out with her hands. All the while she was running blindly, catching more things on fire as she crashed into walls and other objects, which people also tried to put out.

Those that weren't helping the girl or the property were looking at Zora in disbelief, as was her sister. Rowan thought that that girl deserved to be humiliated, maybe even punched a little, but her sister's actions were over the top. She looked at her sister, and Zora had the look of vacancy on her face as she continued to smoke.

"Maybe it does," Zora calmly said to the fiery red head.


	3. Day Before The Reapings Part 2

**District 8**

She asked to go to the market.

He didn't understand why she wanted to do that as they had recently just got back from the market, but his daughter was insisting on going back. She begged him and was teary eyed, he couldn't say no. Not with the way she was asking.

So they went back to the market, and all the while, he was wondering just what the return trip was for. They had gotten all their supplies for work and the food they needed.

"Was there something there that you liked?" He asked his daughter, trying to figure out what was up.

"No." She sighed, clutching her large bag tightly to her chest. He looked at the bag and saw that it had some things inside. What was inside he did not want to know.

"Do you want to return something?" He asked.

"No." She repeated, clutching the bag even more.

"Are you going to meet someone and give it to them?" He asked.

"No." His daughter repeated again.

"Then what do you want at the market?"

"Nothing." The daughter hissed. "Quit asking." It was an obvious lie, and one that he wanted to pursue. She looked like she didn't want to go as he could see that she was nervous, but for some reason, she was pushing past her nerves and going anyway. There had to be a reason for that.

"If you want to talk about it-" He started, but his daughter interrupted him.

"I don't."

"Fine." He sighed, giving up. It wasn't something to fret about, she wasn't going to cause any problems at the moment. Not while he was around. Or so he hoped.

Minutes later, they arrived at the flourishing market that was selling things for reaping day. There were things that the Capitol brought in that were just about useless to anyone but the rich who wanted to decorate their homes. And nobody in the district wanted them. They didn't want reminders of the games inside their homes to stare at them, they had the deaths and misery to remind them.

Luckily, citizens of the districts were also selling their own things as well. Ranging from food to tools, those items were something that people actually wanted to buy. He wondered how the Capitol vendors felt about that.

There was nothing there for them though. He turned to face his daughter. "So what was it that you-" He started, but stopped when he realized that she wasn't even there anymore. He exhaled heavily. "Damn it, Paige." He then went into the market to search for his daughter. He was sure that she was up to no good. Ever since that day six months ago he worried constantly.

What's she up to now? He wondered as he searched for his anxious daughter.

Going from stall to stall, he couldn't find her. He got increasingly worried. He wondered where she could possibly be. Suddenly, he heard a commotion somewhere further into the market. Voices were shouting, and he recognized one of those voices.

As swiftly as he could, he sprinted towards the source of the commotion, shoving people out of his way before he arrived at the scene. And just as he expected, there was a middle aged man and woman holding his eighteen year old daughter by both her arms, preventing her from running away.

"You think you can steal from our store?" The man yelled at her. "You think you can steal from us?"

"I don't even want your shitty merchandise!" Paige screamed at him as she struggled. It was no use though. Her pale, thin body was no match for the two adults.

"Then why'd you steal it?" The woman hissed as she pulled Paige's wavy blond hair sharply. Paige yelped as her head was being held up.

"What's going on here?" Paige's father shouted as he approached the two merchants.

"Your bitch of a daughter was stealing from our stall!" The male merchant growled as he picked up a metal trinket. "She was trying to steal this."

"No I wasn't!" Paige defended. He had heard enough, Thread Ingram paid the merchant for the stupid toy before they let go of his daughter rather roughly. Thread hated when this happened. His daughter would steal something, and when she got caught, people got mad. He couldn't understand why she'd do it. They were one of the richest families in the district. She had more than enough money to buy some cheap item if she wanted, but instead, she stole. And she would cloth over it nearly each and every time.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, sir." Mr. Ingram said as the man counted the coins in his hand. Double what he was selling the thing for. The man tisked sharply before he returned to his stall with his wife.

Thread went to tend to his daughter, but she was already running away, and she was crying. He pursued her, hoping to catch her before he lost her in the crowd again.

* * *

They were dragging him away.

When they were called to his work section, they knew immediately what happened. They didn't really care why or how it happened, all they cared about was that it had happened.

They knew the source of the commotion, and he was fighting against the restraints of his older siblings, screaming profanity and threatening to murder his co-worker.

Apparently it was up to them to save the kid, because even though there was a row full of kids, the supervisor was the only one brave enough to try and stop their brother. Little help that had done, as he was quite a fighter. That's why they were called, to try and get him to quiet down.

They felt that they had gotten there just in time, but others might say different. From what Stitch could see, the boy that faced his brother was laying on the floor, clutching his gut and bloody face and crying. Bits of equipment and sewing material were scattered on the floor, some in pieces.

In another situation with other people, it might of been funny to see a fourteen year old being bested by a skinny, golden blonde haired, light skinned, pimple faced boy that looked like he was only eleven years old instead of fourteen. But it wasn't another situation with other people. It was between an injured boy and Stream Outgo. And everyone knew that a fight between Stream Outgo was nothing to laugh about.

"Stream!" Stitch shouted to his brother as the youngest sibling kept on fighting the grasps of his brothers and sisters. "It's over! It's over!"

It wasn't over though. He knew that his brother would keep on fighting until his temper lowered, or he ran out of energy. Whichever came first.

"I'm sorry." One of his sister said apologetically to the supervisor. "I'm so sorry. It won't happen again." Lies. All the siblings knew that it was a big fat lie, and they guessed that everyone else knew as well.

"Damn right it won't happen again!" The work supervisor roared over the sound of Stream's swears. "I gave him a chance, and gave him another! This is the third needle mouse he's beaten up! He's fired! Like he should of been the first time!"

"You can't fucking fire me you stupid fat cunt!" The young rager shouted, trying to physically get to the adult, failing only because three of his elder siblings here holding him back. "I'll fucking kill you! I'll burn down your fucking factory!"

"Enough!" Stitch shouted to his youngest brother. "You've caused enough trouble already! We're going home!"

"None of you Outgo's are getting paid today because of what happened here!" Their boss told them. Before any one could protest, Stitch roared.

"FINE! LET'S GO EVERYONE!"

And with that, the family hauled their younger brother away from the crowd of young workers and the scene of the crime. Stitch loved his brother, he knew he did. He knew that all his brothers and sister loved him, but he was such a pain in the ass with his temper. And after they had worked so hard to get him this job.

"I just took some string." The downed boy cried out.

 **District 7**

She smelt alcohol.

And vomit. It was a repulsive stench and one that she wished that she wouldn't have to smell almost daily. She had to wonder what was worse, the awful screaming through the night, or the smell that greeted her in the morning.

She couldn't decide. For her and the rest of the family, she supposed that the screaming was worse. But for her son inside the room that smelt of death, she didn't know which was more important. On one hand, the nightmares that plagued his dreams was bad for him. But on the other hand, the alcohol consumption that he did just about every night wasn't healthy for him either.

He did it to pass out. Drink so much that he fell unconscious. He considered it the lesser of two evils, but she wasn't so sure. And there were times that he blacked out, but didn't pass out. Those were always the worst, as he was no longer in control of himself until he either passed out, or fell asleep. The things he said and did during that state were never good in her eyes or ears.

She pounded on his bed room door with her fist.

"Carver?" She asked loudly. "Carver, are you there?"

A loud groan was her answer. She thanked those higher than her that her son was still alive and continued to call him. "Carver, breakfast is ready and-"

"Stop talking!" Her son shouted as she heard the sound of liquor bottles rolling around inside his room. Silence occurred before she heard him groaning again, followed by more liquor bottles clinking together. "Ahhh," She heard him moaned. "My fucking head."

She heard his heavy boots slowly stomp towards the door before it swung open, and a very dizzy and tired looking eighteen year old was revealed. Slightly under six and three quarter feet tall and burly, the boy looked like a barely awake giant. He ran his dark hand through his short, coarse, and darker hair as he exhaled heavily. His goatee was unkempt, making it look longer than it actually was.

Carver Greene made his way past his moderately shorter mother before he made his way towards the kitchen.

"Are you all right?" She asked softly, following closely behind.

"Yeah." Carver replied.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Nightmares?"

"None."

"Good."

"Yeah."

The two family members meet up with the rest of their family. A short but wiry father and a younger brother and sister of about the same height as their mother.

Instead of going to the table to join his family, Carver went to the sink and vomited loudly.

"Good morning to you to." The only daughter sighed.

"Shut up." Carver told her before he wiped his mouth and came to the table.

They didn't talk after that, just ate. Carver drank a lot of water, and that was it. Just looking at his food seemed to upset his stomach. The trio of siblings then went to school, the younger siblings helping their older and bigger brother stagger along the path.

"You didn't tell him?" She asked her husband when her kids were out of sight.

"No." He answered softy. "He's got too much going on right now. I'll tell him he was fired after the reapings and once he's got his medication back."

The wife nodded, thinking that it was for the best as well. Once the reapings and the game this year was over, the drinking would stop. Her son would only get the occasional nightmare, and things would go back to functioning better. Carver wasn't going to show up for work drowsy, hungover, and tired.

They were going to be a proper family again.

* * *

She felt worthless.

If there was anything that could describe how she felt, it was worthless. Totally, and utterly worthless as she looked at her husband and sixteen year old daughter in front of her. Her husband, a Hunger Games survivor of twenty years, was back to his former self. An empty shell that many victors were. But worse.

Her husband was not only depressed, but psychotic as well. So as he cried to himself, starved himself, and did little else but harm himself, he yelled at things that weren't even there. The Capitol not only took away the medication for potential tributes, but for everyone. Victors included.

Her husband had fought the peacekeepers, not only for himself, but his daughter. His daughter that he didn't even know was only ten feet away from him, slumped over with her back against the wall. Her eyes just barely open and breathing so shallowly that she looked almost dead. Every time she slowly closed her eyes she looked dead, only for them to eventually open back up slowly.

Her red, sunburnt skin made her bright blue eyes stand out, even if most of it was covered by eye lids and a curtain of lackluster maroon hair. A long, thick cable of drool streamed out of her mouth. She looked like a puppet who's strings had been severed.

Seeing her husband and daughter in that state, Berry Marlowe wanted to break down and cry. She wanted to rally everyone she could and revolt against the Capitol for turning her loved ones into those things devoid of life.

She picked up a used syringe and threw it in the metal trash bin. If either of them got up, they might hurt themselves, and that was the last thing Berry wanted. Though they were already hurting themselves through different means.

The needles themselves had been full of homemade tranquilizers, something that her husband and the other victors had started to make because they didn't like the itching of the morphine the Capitol supplied them, at a price.

After he got medication and got himself looked after, he kicked the drug habit. He no longer needed it. There were complications still, but they learned to live with them. But now that they had taken it away. He was back to knocking on death's door.

And because Ivy's medication got taken away as well, she was taking those homemade tranquilizers in an attempt to fall asleep. The problem was, she never did get to sleep. She didn't take it as often as her husband, who had a much worse condition than her, but she had a condition neither the less.

From what she knew, it was annoying for her daughter at first, but after days of not sleeping, Ivy's symptoms got as bad as her husband's. She would start talking to people that weren't there, get paranoid, and want to do anything to fall asleep. Even resort to the questionable methods of improvised drugs.

It broke Berry's heart to see two people that she loved so dearly suffer like they were. So much so that she sent her three other children to her mother's place so that they wouldn't have to see their father and sister as they were.

Berry screamed. Her husband cried and shouted at imaginary things. Her daughter Ivy continued to stare at nothing and drool.

When Berry was done screaming, she began to cry. She cried, and vomited, and cried some more. She felt horrible. She wanted to kill herself. But when she looked at two of the people that meant more to her than life herself, she decided to remain as strong as she could. For them.

 **District 6**

She was crying.

It started as a normal breakfast conversation of what they were going to do that day, and suddenly, her youngest and only daughter started to out out of no where. Everyone at the table looked at her and gave each other puzzled look.

"What's the matter, Lexus?" Her eldest son asked as tears ran down his sister's face.

"I'm thinking about tomorrow." Lexus sobbed as she clutched her spoon tightly. Her tried and fearful, dark brown eyes said it all. "I'm going to be picked."

The entire mood of the family changed with those very words. The room went from somewhat cheerful and relaxed, to heavy and somber. She felt a great weight come down on her heart, but she did her best to hide it.

"What makes you say that?" She asked her daughter, wondering what her reasoning behind it was.

"How many mentally ill girls are there in District Six? And how many of them are teenagers? Much less than the normal population that normally shows up. And I'm sixteen, and taken out tessera, which makes me even more likely to get picked. For all I know, this could be my last full day with you guys. No. I feel as if this is my last full day with you guys."

She was worried. They were all worried, but she worried much more than them. And it wasn't just because she was off her meds, it was because what she said was true. She was still eligible for the reapings, while her two older brothers were too old for the event.

It wasn't only the reapings that she worried about though. No. Lexus Marks worried about everything, getting reaped was just what she was thinking of at the moment. Always thinking, always restless. Seemingly paranoid and thinking that something horrendous might happen. "So while we're here eating creamed oats, talking about how we're going to be doing things as individuals, I'm thinking of how we should spend the time together. For when tomorrow comes."

Tears continued to roll down her face as the family looked back and forth between their crying family member, and each other. They looked guilty, and she knew why. It wasn't that they weren't thinking about Lexus getting reaped, its that they didn't consider her gone yet.

The mother got to her feet, and wrapped her arms around her daughter's milky skinned, but somewhat muscular, crying daughter and said gently to her.

"You're not going to get reaped. But a day with each other is something that we should do." The rest of the family agreed. "So after work, let's all go to town and be a family. Sound good?"

"Yes." Lexus nodded. The mother smiled, glad that she had calmed her daughter down, and rubbed Lexus' short and frizzy brown hair. She then sat back down and began eating again. Her entire family might be one big axel, but everyone knew that Lexus was a wheel. And because of that, they knew that Lexus was prone to sudden abnormal behaviors and needed support. Support that they'd give her, but didn't know if what they did would sputter in the end. But still, they tried. "But what if we have to work late today? What if an accident happens? Do you think my friends are going to say goodbye to me tomorrow?"

* * *

First there was a yell.

The sound of glass shattering quickly followed. And while he didn't know what was going on outside his room, he dashed out as quickly as he could and followed the frenzied screams of his son.

He ran into the next room, and found his son holding a wooden chair in his hands. He was shouting non-sense as he viciously smashed the covered up windows.

"Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up shut up!" The teenage boy cried out as crystals rained down on the floor. The holes appearing in the improvised drapes allowed the moonlight to shine into the house. "You're dead you're dead! Leave me alone! My thoughts are mine! Fuck you!" It terrified the father, seeing his son acting out like that. He had seen it before, but was just as prepared to deal with it. He wasn't.

"Diesel!" The father shouted before his son ran to the next window and started to bash it into smithereens, completely ignoring his dad.

The father was scared of his son. Scared that at least one of them was going to get seriously hurt, like last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And all the other times his condition had gotten out of order. He feared for his safety, but he feared for his son's safety even more. "Diesel! Listen to me!" He shouted again.

Diesel looked at his father with dark, rageful eyes that were combined with despair. His black hair wild. His chewed up lower lip was bleeding. His clothes as stained and filthy as his unwashed skin. A lit cigarette was between the side of his head and his right ear. The boy destroyed the rest of the glass as the father talked some more. "What's going on?"

"They're stronger!" Diesel screamed before he started to move to the covered up television, and destroyed it as well. "They're stronger than ever!"

"What's stronger?" The father asked, puzzled by the behavior.

"Those fucking ghosts!" Diesel screamed as he kicked the TV set. "Sucking my thoughts. Feeding me new ones! Telling me to do shit! Trying to take my soul! I'm not worthless! Live and let die!"

Diesel ran over to the stove and annihilated the glass part of the door. "They harm no more!"

Diesel then attempted to run into another room, but was stopped by his father. Who, while shorter than him, was just as muscular.

"Son. Stop this." He firmly said, hoping that his intense fear wasn't laced in his voice. And wither Diesel heard the fear or not was lost on him. His seventeen year old son shoved him with all his might. The father nearly fell over, but quickly recovered and grabbed his son by the back of his shirt before he got to his next target. "Stop it son! You don't have to do this!"

The teen faced his father with a look of pure hostility.

"Why are you supporting them? Cunt! Liar! Bastard! You want them to control me?"

"Son," He tried to say, but Diesel continued to accuse.

"Mom would be so proud of you."

"I'm here because of your mom." The dad told him, but his words were lost on his son, who threw the chair at another covered up window.

"Where's grandpa? I want to talk to grandpa!"

"He's dead, son."

"Stay out of my head!" Diesel screamed before he started to pound his head in with his fist. "My thoughts are mine!"

"Please son-" He started, but was cut off again.

"Get away from me you fat fuck load of shit! Put him under an engine! I'd call you a tool, but that would imply you were useful in at least one way! Mom was right to leave you! Why do I put up with you? Shut up! I hope you outlive your children!" The boy then began to laugh. But it was a laugh that also sounded like crying. It was like he couldn't decide wither to laugh or cry.

The father wanted to cry as well, but he was too frightened, concerned, and confused to do so. "Cooking oil and motor oil aren't both used for cooking, but both burn!"

Diesel then slipped out of his shirt, ripped out a desk drawer, and threw it at another window before jumping out of said window. "I live and think my own thoughts fuckers!" The teen screamed and cried and laughed into the darkness before he sprinted away.

"Diesel Tarbeck!" The concerned father yelled as he ran the entrance of the home and chased after his son. "Get back here!"

The public thought that his son was violent. Unstable. And while he was unstable, he was not violent. But now that he was out of his room and running around in the state he was in, people would think he was. He didn't want to think of what would happen if the peacekeepers got to him. They would leave him dented, so he'd rather sputter than stall and drop. "Get back here!"

 **District 5**

He threw his food in the trash.

He had offered his son some breakfast, and the reaction wasn't what he wanted it to be. His son had snarled at him before he grabbed the plate of food and threw it into the garbage can. A look of disgust and anger in his face.

"What are you trying to do?" The son asked with hostility. "Make me fat?"

"No son." The father told him calmly as he looked at the food in the trash and back to his son. His son was not like most of the district. He had a somewhat muscular body, but still really thin. His skin was tanned and his hair was short and light brown. Not an everyday sight in District Five. He was anything but fat. "I just want you to eat something."

"I'm not hungry." He said, his eyes facing away from his father's. "I'll... I'll eat later."

"No son. I want to see you eat something, then I want you to take your brother to school."

"He can go to school himself." Spark Gambel argued, still not looking at his father. "Its not like he needs my help anymore. He's fourteen anyway, he doesn't want to be seen with his older brother." The dad heard the sadness in his eldest son's voice from the last statement.

"It'll make me feel better if you two went together." The father told him as he reached into the trash and scooped out the food and plate, not wanting to waste food. "And Spark, if you don't want to eat now, eat it at school or something." He insisted, trying to drive his point across.

"Yeah, fine, whatever." The fifteen year old huffed as he crossed his arms across his chest and tapped his foot anxiously. "Can I go now?"

"What for?" The father asked, even though he knew what it was all about, as he wrapped the breakfast contents. "You don't have to be at school for another hour."

"I'm going to hang out with Watt for a little bit before school starts." He knew that was a lie, but didn't say anything, not wanting to have a fight with his son this early in the morning the day before the reapings.

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

"If I see Watt later and ask him if you two hung out before school, is he going to say yes?"

"Of course."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay then." The father said, skeptically before he handed his son his food. "Just come back for your brother. All right? And eat your food. Your mother's worried about you you know."

"Fine." Spark said with irritation. "Can I go now?"

"I guess so." The dad sighed. And with that said, Spark Gambel was out the door and jogging down the district road, despite the fact that he looked tired. The father knew that his son was more likely to throw away the food than to actually eat it.

No matter what he and his wife did, they couldn't make their son eat as much as he should of. And then there were the times where he'd eat too much, and then do some kind of rigorous physical activity to try and make up for all the food that he ate. Starve himself as well.

Sometimes at night, and sometimes even during the day, they could hear him crying when he thought they couldn't hear him.

They had tried to help him, but all their efforts seemed to add up to nothing. They thought that they had helped him, but he'd fall right into that hole he had dug up. So they did their best to regulate the condition his was in. Regulate it as best they could so that he wouldn't run himself to death, starve himself to death, or something else that would make him dead.

Muscular and thin their son was. That wasn't always a good thing.

* * *

She would not sit still.

If there was anything that seemed impossible to her, it was that it seemed impossible for her friend to sit still. Anna's fists were constantly, loudly, banging against each other as she rocked back and forth in her chair. And she wasn't doing it quietly either. The chair legs banged harshly on the floor every time one side leaned forward.

She had been like that since she had sat down. She found it annoying and distracting from the lesson.

"And so!" The teacher shouted over the noise that her friend was creating, though it did little good, as she, and probably a lot of her classmates, were getting distracted by her friend. "You place the resistor with the red and blue bands in the upper left corner and-"

"Solder it onto the motherboard below the yellow and red banded resistor!" Anna shouted, interrupting the lesson even more than she already was. "We know."

"Uhh," The teacher said, still not used to the girl's random outbursts. "Right. So anyway, after we do that-"

"Hey teach!" Anna shouted again. "Can we just start on this? We all ready know how to do this."

"I don't." Vida said to her friend, not wanting her to create a commotion. "And I don't think that other people do as well."

"Oh." Her friend said with understanding, though she still didn't relax. "All right." Vida considered it a success, even if it wasn't much. Silence engulfed the room for several moments. Anna's shoulders rolled back and she gave out a groan, breaking the first tunes of silence the class had had in an hour.

"So anyway," The teacher said, pleased that Anna had stopped talking. "As I was saying. After we place the resistor in the upper left corner and solder-"

"What about just me then?" Anna shouted out.

"Mrs. Leptick." The teacher said crossly as she looked at her the same way her tone was. "Could you at least raise your hand and-"

Her friend quickly raised her hand an instant before yelling again.

"How about just me then?"

The teacher then sighed heavily before she looked back to Anna.

"I suppose you can because-"

"Thanks." Anna quickly said before she jumped out of her chair so swiftly that she knocked the chair to the floor. She made her way to the front of the room as she continued to talk. "You know, by the time you're done talking, I'll be done the project. You know what you should do? You should instruct us as we work." The eighteen year old distraction grabbed an arm full of circuit boards and solder pencils and started to distribute them to her surprised classmates.

The teacher tried to stop her, and Vida just slammed her head onto the desk and hid her face behind her crossed arms and groaned to herself.

She loved her friend. She really did. But there were times where she was just too much. Too energetic. Unable to calm down, unable to resist doing something without thinking it through. She hatted standing still, and even in her sleep she moved. Vida had earned many kickings because of that. Anna was one big lightning rod, and Vida wished that that could change.

Living with her was exhausting, and at times she wanted to end it. But she didn't. She thought about it, but never did.

Vida heard something hit her desk, and the startled girl looked up, and saw her friend smiling down at her with the sweetest brown eyes and a huge smile on her scabbed up, chalky face. "Let's get some work done so we can leave early." Anna happily said before she started to work on her equipment, not even bothering to sit down as she sweeped a hand through her silky black hair. "I'll help you."

Vida smiled back.

"Show me."

 **District 3**

She was whispering to herself.

From what she could hear, she thought that it was non-sense. Her daughter was talking about numbers, and patterns, and how things were bad and good, and none of it made sense to her. She looked to the rest of her family, and saw that they were also looking at their sister and daughter.

She talked to herself often, and this was no different, but it always worried about her. Talking almost non-stop for a short amount of time, or maybe a little longer, and while she was at it, she might even tap her fingers rapidly.

"Seven on the up." Her daughter whispered. "And on the down. Seven on set and on the go. Seven passed and stayed. Seven here. Bad bad bad bad. No no no no. Good good good good. Safe safe safe safe."

She hardly paid attention to her cereal, which had turned into mush. Her spoon trembled in her left hand as her right hand continued to drum the table.

She then stopped, looked at her family, and smiled before she went back to eating her soggy cereal, which she had just noticed was soggy. She shrugged and ate some of it before she got up and started to arrange the dishes in the sink.

"You don't have to do that, Dayta." The mom assured her daughter, but the fifteen year old daughter wasn't listening to her. It was like she was in another world. She looked and acted robotic, not in tune with the world.

"Four in the morning." Dayta whispered as she put dishes away. "Four in the afternoon. Four in the evening. Four at night."

She continued to put things away, and when the rest of the family placed their dirty dishes in the sink, Dayta rearranged it. The mother watched as her daughter organized everything into that weird order that she had.

By the time she was done, the others had already left for work and school. All except the two of them. Her daughter held up a cup that she had gotten from a co-worker the day before. Her daughter couldn't seem to find a place to put it.

"I'll take-" The mother started, but stopped herself as her daughter tossed the cup into the garbage. She liked that cup, and was going to hide it from her daughter when she left.

Dayta then sighed heavily and arranged her wavy black hair into four tails before she walked up the mother.

"Mom, is everyone okay?" She asked seriously.

"Yes." The mother answered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She repeated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She said, slightly bitter that she was doing this cycle again.

"Are you sure?" The daughter asked, yet again, with even more seriousness.

"Yes," The mother growled. "They are all fine."

"Then I'll be off to school then." Dayta told her, smiling, before she turned around and walked out the door. The mother was about to sigh in relief when her daughter came back to check on the door lock.

"Everything's fine Dayta!" She shouted, annoyed that her daughter was ignoring the importance of school in exchange for, whatever she was doing.

"You don't know that!" Dayta shouted back as she ran from room to room, checking the locks on the rest of the doors and windows.

The mom kept on smacking her head, trying her best to suppress yelling again. Dayta's mental condition was such a pain in the ass. She did things for no reason other than because she said she had to. She repeatedly told Dayta that she didn't have to do those weird things that she did, but she kept on doing them anyway. Wasting her time on nothing when she could be doing something. Like a huminoid program to a invisible power.

When Dayta was finally done checking the house's security, she ran out the door, slammed it behind her, and locked the door. Seconds later the sound of key-lock tumblers moving occurred. A third time. Then a fourth time, before the sound of footsteps became quiet, then nothing.

The mother then sighed heavily in relief and frustration as she unlocked the door and left for work. But not before she locked it behind her.

He was captivated by the flames.

When she had found him, she saw him watching the growing fire with fascination. A wide smile on his face as the colours of the flames reflected off his skin. His skin was light where it wasn't seared, which was slightly less than half his body.

The kid looked like a patchwork of sewed on red, wrinkled, and horrific flesh that wasn't human, mixed with the body of a sixteen year old boy.

He continued to watch the flaming barrel of machine parts as she approached him. When she got close, the boy was stirring the metal parts around in the barrel with a long metal rod.

"Hey." She said softly, kindly, as to not scare him.

"Hey." He said calmly as pulled the rod out. Artificial fireflies flew from the oil drum, and some landed on his clothes, but didn't burn. He didn't notice though, he was too busy looking at the hive.

"You ran away from school." She said to him, thinking of the reason that she had been called and sent to go after him.

"Yeah?" He said with indifference. "And?"

"I'm just wondering why." She shrugged, wondering what reason her friend could have for running from school, all the way to the dump to set a fire. And though she knew the reason, she kept on hoping that his answer would be different.

"I needed to." He answered. It was the same thing that he said every time he set one. It was always that he needed to. That he was compelled to. But from what she could see, the only reason that he set things ablaze was because he liked to look at the fire. To study it. Because he had some kind of weird fixation with it. It was clockwork at its finest.

"You always say that," She huffed. "But is that really the real reason?"

"Yeah." He answered simply.

"It's so destructive though."

"Don't think that I don't know that." He told her as he picked up a wire cord and a dirty toilet bowl seat. He looked between the two items, and threw the toilet seat into the flaming barrel.

She looked at him, and though he was tall and brutish looking for someone of District Three origin, mainly because of his burn scars, he really wasn't one to act like it. She then thought of all those fires he created. And how much of a fascination he had with it and how much damage they had done. It was like a drug to him, and a drug that he wouldn't give up.

The burnt and demented Nick Sirga pulled out a rectangular package from his jacket pocket and pulled out a white cylinder. He placed the package back in his jacket and lit one end on fire before inhaling its acrid smoke.

He exhaled the smoke and then sat in a broken and almost unusable chair to watch his creation at work. "Have a seat and enjoy the show will you?" He invited before he kicked over a stool on wheels, which the girl took.

She sat beside him, watching, but not enjoying the fire as much as her friend. The fire gave her physical warmth, but she didn't feel good.

She looked to her friend, but he didn't look back. He was in a trance as both black and grey smoke swirled around his ugly burnt face, black hair, and gazing brown eyes.

She worried about him. And sometimes, she felt like she was the only one that did.

 **A/N: Up next, the careers.**


	4. Day Before The Reapings Part 3

**District 4**

She was weaving a net.

That was about the only thing that interested her in the academy. Making nets. It wasn't much, but if that's what it took to keep her busy, so be it. He didn't have time for her anyway, he had his own training to take care of.

Cruise Trent annihilated the training dummies in front of him, sending bits of stuffing flying in every direction with each graceful thrust of his spear. He imagined them to be his future Hunger Games enemies, and just like those mannequins, they stood no chance against him.

He was seventeen years old, and the best in his year. In short, he was a croc, and he was only going to get better, and when his time came, he'd be the one that would bring glory to his district and family. Something that his family had always wanted, but never got.

Cruise looked to his pathetic excuse for an older sister. She was eighteen years old, and like him, she had darkly tanned skin, silky black hair, and ocean blue eyes. They might share some of the same features, but he knew that they weren't the same. Not even close.

Marsha Trent was unbelievably stupid and weak it was pathetic. An atrocious excuse for a citizen of District Four, just like the rest of those that depended on the effects of their medication. Not that Marsha ever took medication, her condition was much too severe to fix. She was permanently damaged, and nothing would ever change that.

Cruise guessed that his mom and dad would of loved to get rid of her, but if they had done anything to her, they would of been put in a bad light by the rest of the district. Even if they were doing it for a righteous cause. After all, what did Marsha do other than say stupid things in that stupid, annoying voice of hers?

She'd run around and cause nothing but trouble, like a six year old child that didn't know better. No, that would be an insult to six year olds. She was an infant that somehow grew big and learned to walk and talk. If you could call her babble speech. She was like a baby seal trying to talk and interact with the human world.

The family had to take care of her because she couldn't take care of herself. She couldn't interact with the rest of the world and couldn't use a weapon to save her life. Cruise hoped that she got reaped tomorrow, it would make the Trent family proper again. They'd be better off without her.

Cruise wanted to try a new combat technique that his instructor had showed him, and for that he needed a net. His sister had a net, an almost inadequately made one, but a net was a net, and all the good ones were being used by his school mates.

He walked over to his sister and ripped the net from her grip. She yelled at him in her jumbled up words and tried to grab it back, but Cruise whacked her to the floor and gave her face a kick as well. She cried, but Cruise ignored her, just like his classmates.

Weak, he thought. Weak and pathetic. He hoped that she got reaped and got out of his life.

* * *

He was hiding.

Of course he was hiding, he hid a lot. Hiding was almost his specialty, aside from his disorder that was. But even though he was off his medication, he saw no reason for his son to act the way he was.

"Blue Villegas!" The father yelled to the ceiling, one of the common places where his son would hide at any given time. "Come down stairs! Right now!"

No answer. The father sighed heavily, of course there would be no answer. He didn't want to be found. "Blue! I'm serious!" He said with each word getting more and more bold and angry. "Get! Your! Ass! Down! Here! NOW!" Still no answer. The father cursed some more before he grabbed a long, wooden pole and started to jab the ceiling.

He kept on jabbing until he heard a bang that didn't sound hollow. He banged the pole on the same spot again before he heard something that sounded like an abnormally large rat scurrying away. He followed the sound until it lead outside.

The father ran outside, and found his seventeen year old son trapped under the bodies of his nineteen year old daughter and his wife.

"Get off me!" Blue shouted angrily as he struggled against his family. "Get the fuck off me!"

"Son." The father growled as he glared down at his son. "This has got to stop. You can't just keep on hiding in the house. You've got to go out and face the world sometime."

"And I keep on telling you," Blue growled back. "I can't go outside, everyone hates me!"

"They'd treat you the same if you just acted like everyone else." The mother told her son.

"Oh yeah, sure," Blue said with extreme sarcasm. "They just love someone with a mental disability." Then back to his normal voice. "Why the fuck did you people have to tell them I had one anyway?"

"We didn't tell them." The sister told him as she held his arms behind his back and sat on it.

"Then how did they know?" He accused. "They seemed indifferent to me until a week after the peacekeepers broke into our home. Started looking at me funny and talked about me all funny like. I say someone here told them."

"It's been five months son," The father sighed angrily. "Get over it."

"Get over it?" Blue asked hostility. "Get over it? I can't get over it now that everyone knows about it!" His son then glared at the rest of the family. "I think you told them all, and you want me to go out so they can hurt me."

"Why would we want that?" He asked, confused by the notion.

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the ones that made it happen."

"For the love of..." The father started, but didn't finish as he saw that it was useless to even talk with his son. He kept on thinking that everyone was plotting something against him. That everyone was up to no good. Even his own family. He had trust issues and didn't want to leave the house.

Blue wasn't well, and staying inside the house wasn't going to do him any good. He hardly left the house, and when he did, he was always frigidity and nervous.

His dark skin was lighter because he wasn't working and his greasy black hair and stubble were getting long. He needed to get back out and try to act normal. If he just acted normal, then nobody would notice. After all, nobody in the family told anyone that he was ill. It was all just in his head. "Son," He said, starting a new thought. "Just go to the academy and act normal."

"Yeah, sure." Blue said bitterly. "Easy for you do say. Your not the one that everyone's talking about. Or Planning to hurt."

 **District 2**

She was by herself.

But that wasn't anything unusual. She was almost constantly by herself, and she didn't try very hard to make an effort to interact with other people. Not even her own family. She was more interested in the books in the academy library. But not just any books, story books. Ones that didn't tell about strategies, or how to use a weapon, or how to fight, but one with a story.

"Hey," A boy the same age as her eighteen year old sister loudly announced loudly to his friend. "Look here, Terra's reading some bullshit novel again." He then grabbed the book out of the sister's hands before he waved it in front of her face. "What are you going to do about it freak?"

"Give it back." The older sister said with her empty voice and vacant face. She sounded the same, no matter what. Little to no emotion ever escaped her lips or showed on her face. It was quite scary at times to the younger sister, how her voice could sound that way.

"Give it back she says." The boy laughed with his friend. "I don't think I will."

"Give it back. Now."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'll kick your fucking ass if you don't." She might of said threatening words, but her voice didn't sound dangerous. Instead, it sounded like she was bored out of her mind. She showed some teeth, but it was a weak gesture of anger. She wondered how her sister could not sound threatening when she'd been trained to be a warrior her entire life.

The elder sister was tall and thin thanks to her lack of devotion to training. She was the weakest girl she knew. Clay. It also didn't help that her black hair was long and her skin was hardly tanned. It showed just how much she valued the career way.

"Fine then." The boy casually said before he ripped the cover off the book and tossed it to the non-career girl. "There. Ta-ta." And then he and his friend walked away laughing at their meager victory.

When they were out of sight, the girl went to my sister and saw her taping the book back together.

"I hate them." She said with her monotone speech, and more to herself than to anyone else.

"Why are you here?" The career sister asked quietly and quickly, not wanting to be seen with her. "You know that this happens when you come here."

"Mom and dad wanted me out of the house, and this is the only other place with novels." She answered plainly.

"I think they wanted you to go out and experience the real world." Career sister retorted. "Not have your nose glued to some shitty novel that won't get you any where in life." She wasn't a career, she wasn't interested in anything around the district, it was like she wanted to live that stupid, depressing life of hers. "Get out and talk to someone other than mom or dad or I. Why can't you just do that?" The emotionless girl shrugged before telling her sister.

"I don't like people."

"Yeah," She huffed. "I noticed." She then yanked the novel out of her sister's hands and glared at her. "But you seem really, fucking interested in fictional people's made up lives."

"Give it back, sis." She said, like she expected her to give it back because she asked. She wasn't.

"No." She told her, before flinging the book across the library, where a group of students were studying arena ambush tactics. Several of them gasped in surprise when the book landed in front of them. "Go get it, Terra Whitcomb."

The younger girl then walked away from her sister, hoping that she'd get off her ass and be forced to interact with some people, if only for a minute.

When she was a good distance away, she turned around to see if she had gone to get her book. She hadn't. She just got a different one.

The younger girl screamed out in frustration.

* * *

He was painting.

But it wasn't the painting that you wouldn't want to show off unless you wanted to have people pissed off at you. And that's what his brother was doing at that very moment.

He looked in shock, but not surprise, as he watched the art in progress. The artist was spraying red paint from a can, and staining the academy walls with vile symbols. There were words of profanity, rebellion, and general hate mashed together haphazardly. But the biggest, boldest words were in the center of the wall, that read: Fuck the Capitol! Fuck the academy! And fuck anyone who supports them!

"Thor!" He shouted to his brother, who stopped spray painting and looked down from the step ladder he was on. He wore a bandana around his mouth along with a hooded jacket, but the brother recognized him anyway. Also, he knew that he was the only one in the district that did this kind of stuff. "What in the fuck do you think you're doing!"

"What do you think I'm doing!" Thor shouted back. "I'm fucking things up!"

"You can't do that!" He shouted to his older brother. "If the instructors or the peacekeepers catch you-"

"Which they won't." Thor told him, convinced that he wasn't going to get caught.

"You'll be treated as a war criminal." The brother finished. Thor just shrugged and continued to spray red.

The little brother shook his head. He hated his brother. He was an enemy of the district. An M-Jay wannabe, and something that was so anti-career that it wasn't even funny. He was defying the way of life in District Two.

Granite was planning on volunteering in two years time, and it physically and mental assaulted his very being that he was related to someone that was like his brother. He was a disgrace to everything District Two stood for.

Skipping classes and refusing to become a career. Vandalizing. Staying out on the streets at night and worrying their mother and father. Everything about Thor Houghton was just so irritating to him.

Granite, angry at his brother for what he was doing to the academy, grabbed the bottom of the ladder, and pulled it back with all his might. The result was a yelp and a crash. "Don't think that you're cool because you're different!" Granite roared at his brother before he kicked his brother across the face. "You're a freak! Just like the rest of your kind!"

Thor lashed out with a double kick to Granite's face and chest. Both made contact and the two brothers laid on the ground. Both got up just as quickly and faced each other, circling around each other like a couple of wild animals.

Granite was confident in his abilities. He might be two years younger than his eighteen year old brother, but he trained longer and harder than he had. They had the same deeply sun kissed skin, choco brown hair, and steely eyes, but Granite was taller, more muscular, and more clean shaven than his brother thanks to his academy dedication.

The younger brother was about to strike, but he was blinded by a sea of red hot agony. The burning of chemical spray caused him to scream as he clutched his eyes, but still charged at his older brother.

Thor moved out of the way of her charging brother, and Granite smashed into the wall before he wheeled around.

"If you love the academy so much," Thor said to his brother with malice. "Why don't you defend it?"

Granite rushed to his brother again, but was tripped by him. "Guess that's the best I can expect." Granite then heard a window get destroyed before he heard footsteps running away from the building.

Granite felt fury wash over him. He wasn't just mad anymore, he was enraged. His brother, who didn't work as hard as he did, completely humiliated him and defaced the academy. He was going to pay!

"Hey!" The younger brother shouted as he blinked rapidly and wiped his eyes with his sleeve and ran after his brother. "Get back here! I know where you live!"

 **District 1**

He looked like he was on drugs.

She knew that if someone were to look at him, they'd think that he was crazy and on drugs. And while he was crazy at the moment, he was certainly not on drugs. He was just in a state thanks to his condition.

"Rarity." Her eighteen year old brother spoke into the drain pipe of her friend's house. He was talking so quickly that there were times where she couldn't comprehend what he was saying. "Rarity. This is your boyfriend speaking. I want to read and give you something. Rarity? Rarity? Are you awake? Are you there? Rarity? Rarity?"

"I don't think now's the best time, Splendor." She tried to tell her brother.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, pulling his mouth away from the pipe. "Now's a great time."

"It's nearly midnight." She explained.

"Well she couldn't of been asleep for that long. And besides, once she hears and sees what I wrote and bought for her, she'll be so glad that she got to hear and see them that everything will turn out all right."

"I don't think that-" The sister started, but her brother started to pick up some stones and start throwing it at her friend's window.

"Rarity!" He called out with each throw. "Rarity! Rarity! Rarity! Rarity!"

Radiance Blackwell nervously looked around to see if they were catching the attention of anyone close to them, and saw that they weren't. Yet.

She wanted to get her brother away from the house for a golden number of reasons. He wasn't in his right mind, and she didn't want something bronze to happen to him. Splendor continued to call out for his girlfriend, when suddenly, the sound of glass breaking occurred. "Whoops." Her brother said with surprise. "Didn't mean to do that."

"Splendor," Radiance said with worry as she continued to look around. "Let's just get out of here before someone shows up."

"I don't think she heard that." Splendor observed, seemingly unaffected by the breaking of glass before he ran to the house's fence and jumped over it.

"Splendor!" The sister half shouted half hissed at her brother. She ran to the fence and started hissing at him. "Splendor! Get back here! Right now!"

"Who the fuck's there!" The familiar voice of someone that she didn't want to see or hear shouted out. "Who the fuck threw that rock into my daughter's room?"

Radiance turned and saw her friend's dad standing at the front of his house. He turned, and they looked eye to eye, and she felt chills run down her spine. "Oh hell no!" He shouted angrily at her as he approached her. "I thought I told you to keep your psychotic brother away from my daughter!"

"Sir," Radiance said shakily. "I tried, but you know-"

The sound of a lightweight ladder crashing to the ground occurred, followed by a grunt.

"There we go." Splendor's happy voice said before the father ran towards the boy. The sister followed quickly behind.

"Blackwell!" The father shouted as Splendor carried the ladder. "I want you off my property right this-" The sound of more glass shattering occurred as the ladder meet the window.

"So sorry sir," Splendor told him. "I'll fix it in a bit." He then proceeded to climb up the ladder, towards Rarity's room on the second floor.

"Oh no you don't!" The dad growled before he pulled her brother from the ladder. Splendor landed the ground with a thud, but go up just as quickly. "I'm not letting you near my daughter you drugged up psycho!"

"I'm not on drugs sir." Splendor hyperly told him as he jumped up and down with a crooked smile. "I'm just really really really really REALLY excited to-"

"I can't understand your crazy speech! And don't you lie to me! I can see you're all juiced up on something."

Radiance could see where people would think that. Her brother was extremely vibrant, his ash blonde hair was in shambles, and his teal eyes were bloodshot and had dark bags underneath.

"Talk to Rarity." He finished before his girlfriend's father was even finished talking. "I spent a while trying to create something for her. I also got her a little something, but I created and got something for her, and when my sister and I picked out what we thought was the best one-"

"ENOUGH!" The father roared. "I don't want to hear-"

"Sir," Radiance said, trying to talk over her brother who was speaking calmly, and the father who was raging. "Please, just let him talk with her for a minute or two, he worked really hard on this."

She should know, her brother had spent hours writing poems, and there were piles of paper back home full of words. There were boxes of jewelery back home that he had bought on a whim for her. He had been so focused on the task that he hadn't sleep or ate the entire time, even when he hadn't sleep for two days prior, or ate fourteen hours before that.

The academy, food, sleep. To him, those were all distractions from his goal. And as far as she knew, the angry father was just another distraction in his way.

The father continued to scream, swear, and eventually started to shove him roughly. All the while, Splendor just got back up, dusted himself off, and tried again to get to his girlfriend. Radiance tried to work things out, but couldn't.

She found it funny that the man that was calling her brother a psychotic bastard was the one that was being violent, while her unstable brother was the one being calm.

* * *

There was screaming outside.

And then there was screaming inside the house. At that moment, she didn't care what the people outside were arguing about, all she cared about what was going on inside her house. And as quickly as she could, she got up and ran to her daughter's room while her husband ran out to try and calm things down outside.

When she got to her daughter's room, she ripped open the door, and in the dim light, saw her little girl sitting on her bed. She was holding out her arm, a long, vertical trail of blood was leaking from her arm. In her other hand was a bloody piece of glass. Her girl was crying.

She went over to her daughter ripped the piece of glass from her hand.

"Why do you insist on doing this?" She shouted. "Cutting yourself! What are you thinking?"

"Does it really matter?" Her seventeen year old daughter sighed tiredly. Her light skinned, malnourished body had many self inflected cuts, and her normally vivid green eyes were dull with dark sags underneath. "Not like you care anyway."

"I do care!" The mother shouted.

"About what? Your image or me?"

"About you of course!"

The daughter snorted before she rolled onto her right shoulder and curled into a ball on her bed. Her messy and tangled, bright butterscotch blonde hair covered her face like blanket.

"Why don't I believe you." She stated with sadness. The mother then got infuriated.

"Radiance Dricer!" She screamed in anger and frustration. "You've got no reason to act the way you are! I mean, staying in your room almost all day every day! Not eating! Drinking and doing drugs! Cutting yourself and feeling sorry for yourself! No wonder you feel the way you feel! You need to pull yourself together! Go outside and be with your friends! You don't like the way you feel, change it!"

The mother then stomped out of her daughter's room while thinking of that night six months ago. The peacekeepers had taken away her daughter's medication and drove her into the sorry state she was in.

She said that she couldn't help it, but she certainly wasn't making an effort to try and get better. How was cutting herself going to help her? How was staying in her room going to help her? She needed to get out and live a normal life. If she'd do that, then she'd feel better. But oh no, she claimed she wasn't feeling well, or was too tired or some bullshit like that.

Radiance was her only child, and the only child she was going to get, so she did care about her. But at the same time, she couldn't help someone that didn't want to be helped.

The mother heard sobbing coming from her daughter's room, and thought of how shameful she was as a human being. "There are people who have it so much worse than you!" She yelled to her daughter, thinking of how they were in District One, and there were kids in a shit place called District Twelve. If there were kids that should be crying, it was them.

She heard harder sobbing from inside the house, and more shouting coming from outside. Damn mental illnesses.

She looked at a clock in the hallway. One minute to midnight.

 **A/N: I had way too much time on my hands for the last three days, so I was able to get this done in a short amount of time. Don't expect the next chapter out for some time though.**

 **So, I've got something for all you readers. (Four followers and seven reviews in three chapters? And this isn't a SYOT or romance? AWESOME!) If anyone can correctly guess the mental conditions of eighteen of the tributes, you get a prize! That'll actually affect the tributes! Okay, maybe eighteen with this little information is too much. How about fifteen? Maybe I'll just give whoever gets the most right.**

 **Other questions:**

 **Upon first impressions:**

 **1) Best and worst family member?**

 **2) Fav and least fav family member? (Or is that the same as question 1?)**

 **3) Who'd you want to live with and who wouldn't you want to live with?**


	5. Reapings

**Capitol**

He was ready.

But the companies that wanted to advertise their products weren't. They still wanted to show off their merchandise before the audience could see what they really wanted to see. The reapings.

The man impatiently tapped his notepad with his pen as he waited for the last of the advertisements to finish airing. And when it did, much relief washed over him. He could finally see what crazy tributes were in this year. He particularly liked the twist. The insane tributes that came in once in a great while usually offered the most violent and gruesome deaths. He hoped that a great many of them were like that this year.

The usual hosts, consisting of a bright green haired man sitting beside a woman with orange cat ears, were speaking about how this year was probably going to be the best year in the last century. He couldn't help but agree.

He got his notebook ready and he was eager to write some names of tributes that he could potentially sponsor.

The reapings started in District One, with a full view of the potential tributes. The children that could be chosen was a lot smaller than usual because of the circumstances for this year's reapings.

Still, there were more than enough teens for the district to reap a male and female.

The District One escort, surrounded by armed and ready peacekeepers, pulled a name out of the boy's reaping bowl, and after she read the name, the boy known as Splendor Blackwell shouted at the top of his lungs.

"YEAH!" He then swiftly ran from the eighteen year old section and up the stage. There, he grabbed the microphone from the escort before she could utter a single word. "I got picked!" He shouted excitedly, and quickly. "I got picked! Mom! Mom! Mom! Dad! Dad! Dad! Radiance! Radiance! Radiance! I'm going to the Capitol! Yeah baby, I'm going to the Capitol! You hear this Rarity?"

The man looked at the boy, and thought that he had the strangest combination of features. He was a very handsome boy, ash blonde boy with stunning teal eyes. But those same eyes looked both tired and alert, his smile seemed both real and forced, and he was quite hyperactive. Added to that, he was wearing paint spattered clothes instead of his Sunday best. And like most careers, he looked to be a couple years older than he really was.

The television hosts thought the same things. The woman was commenting on how great he looked while the male was saying that it was great to have such a lively tribute. They also spoke of how normally, tributes would wear their best on reaping day and how he clearly wasn't.

He liked Splendor though, and placed his name on a list of tributes that he might sponsor.

A peacekeeper had to pry the microphone out of Splendor's hands before the escort could call another name.

When the girl's name was called, a girl called Radiance Dricer slowly approached the stage, from the seventeen year old section, though she might have passed for twenty, in tears as she hugged herself. The man tisked. Surly that girl wasn't going to go into the games. But she was when nobody volunteered for her.

The girl herself could have been exceptionally beautiful, but her sobbing and hugging herself, ruined her image. Her butterscotch blonde hair was tangled among itself as well. Her green eyes looked very tired and devoid of happiness with black sags underneith. Her body looked like someone from a lesser district. And because her blue shirt and dark denim pants looked unwashed and all wrinkled like, it helped her image little. The man didn't bother writing her name on his notepad. He didn't think that she was victor material.

The reaping re-recapers thought the same thing, thinking that she was either going to kill herself or die in the bloodbath. The male news reporter was disappointed that such a pretty thing was going to die so soon though. His partner then commented how the stylists were going to make her look better before she died however.

Next came the District Two reapings.

The reapings bowls were cracked, like someone tried to destroy them. There was graffiti written around the reaping area. He wondered what had been going on in that district, and so were the reporters, when the escort, also surrounded by peacekeepers, drew out a name and called for the male. A Thor Houghton.

At that moment, a boy from the eighteen year old section said that they were never going to catch him alive and threw out broken bricks at the escort and peacekeepers. The peacekeepers with body armor and shields quickly subdued the teen and dragged him to the stage as he yelled obscenities.

"Looks like we've got a rebel on our hands." Green hair commented.

"I wouldn't of expected that from District Two." Cat ear added.

Thor himself looked like a fighter that also looked a little older than he really was, but he was also thinner than a typical District Two tribute. He was lightly tanned and had choco brown hair. His angry and steel grey eyes glared at the camera.

The man made a note of Thor before the girl was announced. A Terra Whitcomb was called to the stage, and a girl from the eighteen year old section calmly went to the rallying point.

The girl herself was tall at around six feet, but she hardly looked like a fighter. She looked healthy, but weak. Her skin barely tanned, and her sleek black hair hung loosely. Her brown eyes scanned the area, but were calm, unlike her district partner. She showed no emotions, good or bad.

In short, she looked bored. Though, unlike the careers before her, she looked about her age. "You would think that someone would volunteer to replace her." The woman reporter said. "But I hope that she's one of those silent, crazy people that hates everyone and is quietly planning everyone's death."

The man added her name to his list, though it was in the unsure section.

Then came the District Three reapings.

A girl called Dayta Casteel came from the fifteen year old section. She moved slowly to the stage, shaking and whispering to herself. Her four, very wavy black ponytails trailed behind head. She was short, light skinned, and thin. Her brown eyes darting every which way.

"What do you think she's talking about?" Green haired asked.

"Probably just gibberish." Cat ears replied. "I don't have much hope for her."

"Agreed."

The boy's name was called, and Nick Sirga swiftly made his way to the stage from the sixteen year old section. Like Dayta, his hair was black and his brown eyes nervously looking in every direction. But his hair was messy and nearly shoulder length in some areas. He was tall and looked like a roughneck, but his pysical structure still couldn't match the careers. The most notable features about his body were the ugly burns covering nearly half his face. The burns that he tried to hide underneith his hood.

"Where do you think he got all those burns?" Cat ears asked.

"Probably some fights." Green haired told her. "And other questionable activities. After all, he does look like a thug."

The man put Nick's name in the maybe section.

District Four then came along.

The girl was called first. And when Marsha Trent didn't come to the stage, as she was spinning in place, the peacekeepers had to pick her up and carry her from the eighteen year old section. She didn't try and stop spinning though, saying words that were barely understandable.

She was good looking and busty with darkly tanned skin, silky black hair, and ocean blue eyes. But unlike the athletic looking tributes that normally came from the districts, she looked much like Terra from District Two. Less muscular than she should have been, though she had aged well, looking like she was twenty years old. He knew that he wasn't going to put Marsha's name on his list.

"What do you think her problem is?" The female reporter laughed. "Retardation?"

"I don't know," The man chuckled. "Probably. The only thing she's got going for her though is that she's pretty good looking."

When the boy's name was called, Blue Villegas from the seventeen year old section screamed out. He looked a couple of years older than his suggested age.

"I knew it!" And then went on a big rant about his parents and the other kids selling him out before the peacekeepers forced him into silence. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he was sort of good looking with his slightly dark skin, sort of long black hair, and dark eyes. _Though he could shave off his stubble_ , the man thought. As he made a note of Blue, putting him in the maybe section as he looked strong enough to handle himself, though, as a trend this year, he appeared to not be as strong as he could of been.

"No volunteers this year looks like it." The news woman sighed, disappointed.

The District Five reapings appeared, and the escort called out the girl's name. And at the sound of her name, Anna Leptick from the eighteen year old section screamed out.

"I'm not going! No way!" And tried to run away from the square. But the peacekeepers managed to surround her and force her to the stage. All the while she struggled with what seemed like an unlimited amount of energy. She was thin and chalky, but had the energy to fight. On her scabbed up face her light brown eyes clearly showed fear though, and she was screaming at the peacekeepers who continued to hold her tightly. Her flowing black hair flew in every direction as she fought.

The two reporters were laughing at her attempts of escaping.

"She honestly thought that she was going to get away?" The man laughed. "What an idiot."

"At least she's got dedication." The woman stated.

The boy was called, and the man was surprised to see the boy.

Spark Gambel from the fifteen year old section was a fit and lean boy, but at the same time, looked unhealthy. His skin was tanned and his light brown hair was short. Along with his blue eyes, he didn't look like an ordinary District Five citizen, though he still had the worn down look on him. "Oh, look at him." The woman said excitedly. "Someone from District Five that looks like they could go out and scrape."

As he wondered if Spark could fight, because his body was both fit and thin, he added their names to the list.

The District Six reapings rolled into view. The reaping bowls looked like they had been attacked, just like in District Two. But many other glass objects had been smashed as well.

The escort called out the girl's name first, and from the sixteen year old section, Lexus Marks walked out shaking violently. She was crying as well, looking nervously around with her frightened dark brown eyes. All the toughness that her toned body showed to the world was ruined by the fact that the milky skinned girl was scared, crying, and had pissed her pants when her name had been announced. Nobody in the district laughed, though the television hosts had more than a few things to say about the frizzy brown haired girl.

"For a well built girl," Green hair laughed. "She sure is a coward."

"She pissed her pants." Cat ears laughed as well. "Nobody in their right minds will sponsor her."

The boy's name was called. And the seventeen year old Diesel Tarbeck had to be dragged to the stage as he fought the peacekeepers as he screamed non-sense and held his hands pressed to his ears. His dark skin was dirty and his darker hair was messy and dirty. His muscular body was trembling, and he didn't seem to have a lower lip.

"I bet he's one of those people that hears voices that aren't really there." The man stated.

"He'll probably one of those paranoid people that goes ballistic when confronted in the arena." The woman commented.

The man didn't add any of the names to the list, as both looked incapable of standing up for themselves. Though he did think about the woman's words about Diesel.

As the District Seven reapings appeared, the man wondered if there were going to be any attractive tributes any time soon. All of them but the District One pair and Marsha had been pretty ugly to some extent.

The District Seven escort pulled out a slip from the girl's reaping bowl and announced the name. The escort had to repeat Ivy Marlowe's name two more times before the girl slowly walked to the stage from the sixteen year old section. Her skin was sunburnt red and her redish-brown hair was unkempt. Her messy hair covered half her sleepy face, and her eyes were barely awake, making it hard to make out her bright blue eyes.

"I normally like redheads," Green hair commented. "But the way she carries herself is just upsetting. And I expected more from a victor's daughter."

The male's name was then called, and from the eighteen year old section was the largest person he had ever seen.

At over six and a half feet tall and looking like he was in his early-mid twenties, Carver Greene was heavily muscled giant. His skin was dark and his short hair darker with the same coloured, messy goatee. He was disoriented though, and took his time getting up the stage, just like his district partner. His deep brown eyes looked just as tired as Ivy's.

"Do you think he'll be able to fight?" The woman asked.

"I sure hope so," Green hair told her. "If he doesn't, I'll be really, really disappointed."

The man put Carver on his list as the District Eight came around. Ivy might be a victor's daughter, but that didn't mean that she was going to become a victor herself. Besides, her father had fallen from grace long ago.

The escort called for the girl first. And from the eighteen year old section came a curly blonde haired, skinny pale girl. Paige Ingram was scared, that much was obvious. It showed greatly in her green eyes. Even so, she managed to walk up to the stage without any drama. "If I didn't know better, I'd think she's just another tribute."

"But she's not." Cat ears said. "At least she can get up there without making a scene."

The next tribute to be called was a boy in the fourteen year old section, though he hardly looked fourteen. Stream Outgo looked like he hadn't yet reached puberty. Short and thin with golden blonde hair, green eyes, and a fuck load of pimples on his face and neck, he stomped to the stage with a look of barely suppressed anger.

"I didn't know that babies could be reaped." Green haired joked.

He didn't add any new names to his list as Paige didn't look strong or brave enough to fight and Stream was like a little child.

District Nine was the next district shown.

First called was a girl from the eighteen year old section. Zora Bitseed gave out a scream of anger and swore a bunch of times, making the surrounding kids back away from her, before she made her way, relatively calmly, to the stage before taking her place. The man was surprised by her change of emotions so quickly, and so was the escort.

"What was that all about?" Green haired asked.

"No idea." The woman answered.

Looking at Zora, the man thought that Zora might have been pretty, with her short cut, bleach blonde hair, tanned skin, slim figure and green eyes. But her eyes were like glass, they contained no emotions or feelings. That, and had some masculine features. So much so that she was almost androgynous.

The next name was called, and a boy came out of the fifteen year old section. Harvey Salvador looked like he was having trouble staying awake as he walked to the stage. He was dark skinned, but pale dark, with curly black hair and eyes were dark brown. He as also muscular, that showed that if he were in a confrontation he'd at least be able to maybe fight back.

"There seems to be quite a few sleepers this year." The male reporter commented.

The man added Harvey's name to his maybe list.

Up next was District Ten.

The name was the girl was called, and a seventeen year old girl walked to the stage. Mink Prather was heavily tanned with curly, light brown hair, was somewhat muscular, and looked like she was thirteen years old. Her blue eyes showed nervousness and she shook as she approached the escort and her bodyguards. "How is this a seventeen year old?" The man asked, pointing to Mink.

The boy's name was called next, and a body came out of the fifteen year old section. Falco Naylar slowly walked to the stage as he kept on looking back over his shoulder. His hand scratching his tanned arm. He had brown hair and green eyes. Looked like he could put up a fight if he had to.

"Wonder what he's all worried about?" The woman reporter asked.

He put Falco's name on his maybe list.

District Eleven came up next.

Trail Calloway had to be called twice before he slowly made his way to the stage from the sixteen year old section. And even though he was muscular and tough looking, he looked worried. His skin was dark, but sunburnt with a shaved head and brown eyes.

When the girl's name was called, she was being dragged by peacekeepers that had been with her for some reason. She had brown skin with straight black hair and brown eyes that seemed to focused on something away from the reaping area. She was muscular and was putting up a fight with the peacekeepers.

"Both of them look capable of giving us some entertainment." The male reporter said happily. "If they can get their head out of the clouds."

He wrote both their names on the notebook.

When District Twelve came along, the man sighed with relief that it was almost done. The tributes weren't as interesting as he had thought they were going to be. He thought that they were going to be fighting all the way, but instead, most of them were like the regular tributes. Some scared, and some tried to appear brave. Though a couple of them were interesting, such as Thor throwing things and Anna trying to run away. But more than anything, most of the tributes were not too easy on the eyes.

Just like the District Two and District Six reapings, the glass bowls were cracked for some reason.

The first to be called was a girl from the fifteen year old section. And again, he was disappointed. Ashton Meeker had bright blonde hair and ivory skin, but her body was scrawny and her blue eyes seemed unfocused as she lazily made her way to the stage. She looked like she wanted to go to sleep. "Another god damn sleeper!" Green haired screamed in frustration. "I swear, all the tributes will be sleeping in the arena instead of fighting!"

The last tribute to be reaped was eighteen year old Ryan Burnout, who when his name was called, went into hysteria. He ran over to a woman, grabbed her with both his brown arms around her, and begged her not to leave him. He cried his grey eyes out as he held her, before peacekeepers started to pry him off her, to when his sadness suddenly turned to rage. He fought the peacekeepers with his malnourished body the entire time they pulled him. His shoulder length black hair flying in every direction.

"Looks like we've got a mama's boy here." The cat eared woman giggled.

And with that, the reapings ended.

The man sighed and placed his note pad down. He was disappointed. He thought that tributes with mental disorders would be far more interesting than these people were. Yet, most of them were just scared kids. And unlike most years where there was almost an equal mix of attractive tributes, most of the ones picked this year were below average.

He then threw his notebook on the table and leaned back as the television hosts gave their final thoughts on the tributes.

 _Still,_ he thought, _as long as they give a good show._

 **Eighth Quarter Quell Contestants:**

 **D1 Male: Splendor Blackwell -18**

 **D1 Female: Radiance Dricer -17**

 **D2 Male: Thor Houghton -18**

 **D2 Female: Terra Whitcomb -18**

 **D3 Male: Nick Sirga -16**

 **D3 Female: Dayta Casteel -15**

 **D4 Male: Blue Villegas -17**

 **D4 Female: Marsha Trent -18**

 **D5 Male: Spark Gambel -15**

 **D5 Female: Anna Leptick -18**

 **D6 Male: Diesel Tarbeck -17**

 **D6 Female: Lexus Marks -16**

 **D7 Male: Carver Greene -18**

 **D7 Female: Ivy Marlowe -16**

 **D8 Male: Stream Outgo -14**

 **D8 Female: Paige Ingram -18**

 **D9 Male: Harvey Salvador -15**

 **D9 Female: Zora Bitseed -18**

 **D10 Male: Falco Naylar -15**

 **D10 Female: Mink Prather -17**

 **D11 Male: Trail Calloway -16**

 **D11 Female: Soya Boykin -17**

 **D12 Male: Ryan Burnout -18**

 **D12 Female: Ashton Meeker -15**


	6. Arrival

**Capitol Train Station**

She was grateful to be back.

She didn't know if she could handle another hour in that train with her tributes inside it. It wasn't that Crystal hated her tributes this year, it was just their actions that made her want to get out of there.

"Hey!" She heard a peacekeeper shout as the train slowed and was arriving at the Capitol station. "Get down from there boy!"

Before she even looked, she knew who the peacekeeper was talking to and why he was shouting. Her male tribute, Splendor Blackwell, was hanging onto the outside of the train. The train hadn't even fully stopped yet, and Splendor was already kind of out of it.

Crystal shook her head and sighed as Splendor laughed gleefully.

When the train came to a full stop, the peacekeeper pulled Splendor off the train as she and Radiance exited the train normally.

"Well that was fun." Splendor said happily as the peacekeeper gave him back to Crystal. "What a rush. The wind in your hair, the sights and the rumbling of the train. My heart's racing, and it feels good." Splendor then reached up and touched his head. "How's my hair?"

"Windswept." Radiance answered softly.

"Awesome!" Splendor said as Crystal escorted them a building where they were going to meet their stylists and prep-team to make them presentable for the Capitol.

There was a cheering crown waiting for the tributes, and Crystal was pretty sure that her tributes were getting the biggest applause. That was probably one of the few things that made up for dealing with the mentally disabled tributes from One, they were Capitol favorites and very easy on the eyes.

Radiance kept her head down, trying to be invisible, while Splendor was running around and shaking people's hands and greeting them. Whenever Splendor shook the hand of a teenage girl, she would end up screaming with joy.

Crystal looked down another aisle, and saw her friend, Sabrina, the escort of District Two, escorting her tributes. The girl looked like she was observing the crowd and wasn't being affected by the affection they were giving her. The boy on the other hand was yelling at them and waving his middle digits around for all to see. And from the look of Sabrina's horrified face, and the fact that she could kind of hear Thor's voice over the roar of the crowd, he was saying some nasty things about her people. She heard swearing and threats and other horrible things.

Crystal ignored him as best he could as she focused on her tributes.

Not ten seconds later did Radiance start to cry loudly and run back to the train, only to be grabbed by a couple of peacekeepers. Radiance then started to scream that she wanted to go home. Crystal gave out a loud, irritated sigh. She knew which tribute she was going to focus on this year.

Radiance didn't talk much, and when she did, she often talked in a somber tone. She wanted to be left alone as much as possible, and Crystal on more than one occasion had heard her crying in her room. Radiance was also never interested in anything, not even the Capitol or the games she was going into. She was a lost cause.

When the tributes were done with the opening introductions in the flesh, the escorts gathered around one another and began to tell each other about their horrific journey to the Capitol.

"It was simply the worst," The District Ten escort told them. "That punk Falco kept on asking me if he could somehow check on his family the entire time, while that Mink was just simply rude to me. When I confronted her about the consequences, she told me that it was future Mink's problem."

"That's nothing." The District Seven escort countered. "Both my tributes broke into the liquor cabinet and drank until they passed out, and it wasn't quickly and quietly either. If I hadn't taken a double douse of sleeping pills I'd of been up all night."

"Oh yeah," Camella, the District Eleven escort piped up. "Well you know that Soya girl? She nearly walked out of the train on multiple occasions because she said she just HAD to go somewhere. And Trail never seems to listen to anything I say."

Each one of them added their input, and each and everyone of them looked like they hadn't slept nearly the entire time they were on that train. Crystal knew she hadn't, not with Splendor being awake the entire time pacing back and forth down the halls and talking to the avoxes, or himself. And if she remembered correctly, she had seen an avox staring towards inside the room Splendor had occupied. She... Didn't want to know why.

She told her experience about how Splendor's energy seemed to never end and that he liked to hear the sound of his own voice. She also told her that Radiance was a big cry baby and how she preferred to stay in her room.

The District Two tributes were trouble as well. Thor kept on threatening Sabrina and would carve words into the walls and destroy property. He wouldn't ever follow instructions either. Terra more or less just stayed by herself and didn't cause any trouble, but the way she looked when trying to express emotions would have been comical if it wasn't so strange.

When Hermina, the District Three escort, told them that within the first ten minutes, Nick had set his bed on fire, some of them didn't know wither to laugh or not. And there was Dayta, who had everything arranged just so and would freak out when she thought that something wasn't right. She would also mutter to herself about God knows what.

District Four was interesting as well. As Blue had accused his family of getting him reaped and thought that the escort was in on it as well. He had confronted her and had grabbed and shook her, demanding the truth before peacekeepers inside the train separated them. And Marsha seemed to have the ability to talk like she had brain damage. Bright lights seemed to physically hurt her and sudden loud noises sent her into a fit.

Of District Five, Crystal could relate to her fellow escort about Anna. Anna seemed to just say whatever was on her mind, seemed to never run out of energy, and acted like a child. And Spark ate a huge amount of food before he started to exercise excessively, with Anna keeping him company. Spark only ate two meals, and both times were large and followed by exercise.

District Six had a couple of nervous kids, which made it hard for the escort, Fulvia, to fall asleep. Diesel would be yelling loudly, arguing with things that weren't there, in his room while Lexus seemed to be scared of everything, even herself. It also didn't help that Diesel had a habit of smashing anything that gave off a reflection because he wanted to 'keep his soul'.

Both tributes from District Seven broke into the liquor cabinet and downed bottles until they had passed out. Though unfortunately, Ivy and Carver didn't pass out quickly, or quietly. They had both cried and got angry and destroyed stuff before they eventually passed out. They then woke up with the worst hangover that was ever described to her.

District Eight had their own problems, as one would steal things when nobody was looking while the other had an explosive temper. The escort, Rufina, thought that she had been going crazy with items mysteriously disappearing before reappearing, until she found out that Paige had been stealing them. And it was a bad idea to say anything to Stream. And sometimes, it was bad not to say anything either, for he got mad for even the littlest reasons.

District Nine had Harvey, who seemed desperate not to fall asleep, and doing whatever he could to keep it that way. Zora would help him by cutting him and hitting him and such. Harvey was crazy and would occasionally shout at things that weren't there, and Zora didn't seem to have emotions.

From District Ten, Falco kept on pestering the escort for someway to contact his home, to make sure that they were all right, and Mink was being a grouch. It wasn't the worst thing among the tributes, but it eventually got to her.

District Eleven had Trail, a boy that didn't seem to pay attention to anything, and a girl named Soya who had tried to walk out of a moving train because she said that she felt the need to go somewhere.

From District Twelve, there was Ryan, who couldn't decide what emotion he wanted to have. One second he was sad, then he was angry, then happy, then angry again. The giant mood swings scared the young escort. And Ashton who always looked tired, had fallen asleep at random times. She even fell asleep in the middle of a conversation, during dinner, and she was the one that was talking.

All the tributes were strange, and they weren't trained for it. The Capitol had trained them for tributes that were psychos, but none of them seemed to be those kinds of crazy. Out of twenty four tributes, none of them were really what they would call psychopaths. Well, maybe Thor since he did seem to rebel against everything. And Stream, if there wasn't the simple explanation of him having anger problems.

"Do you think the stylists can fix them up?" The District Ten escort asked seriously.

"I don't know." Sabrina answered. "A lot of them are pretty unsightly. And the stylists can only do so much. If anything, the only hope I have for most of them is surgery before they look decent."

It was true. The only good looking ones were her tributes, Splendor and Radiance, along with Marsha from District Four. Nobody else was even close, but even they had their flaws.

"Anything interesting happen on the ride?" Crystal asked. From the looks of her fellow escorts, she knew that she hadn't worded that properly. "I mean, is there anything might be worth hearing?" She asked with uncertainty. "Gossip like I mean?" A pause. "I'll go first. If you all didn't notice, Splendor was hanging onto the side of the train, outside, while it was still moving. And he seems to of gotten into the habit of occasionally flipping furniture upside down. Also, Radiance's clothes got ruined because of him and she had a huge fit about it."

What happened was that Splendor wanted to do a trick, and tried to remove the table cloth for what she assumed was for the trick. Instead of just removing the cloth from the table, he made everything fly off, and spaghetti and sauce ended up on Radiance's reaping clothes. She cried about it because it they had belong to her grandmother once upon a time, and when Splendor tried to help her clean it, she hurried away and sobbed the entire way. Crystal thought that it had something to do with Splendor touching her breasts while he attempted to clean the shirt.

"Ashton defended Ryan." The young, District Twelve escort told them. "He was crying, and saying that his mother had abandoned him and stuff like that. I told him to suck it up, and his mood went from sad to mad in a second. He then started to blame me for it. I began to talk back to him, telling him that if he ever wanted to see his mother again that he learn to respect me. He obviously didn't want to, because he called me all sorts of names. A little into our fight, Ashton told ME to leave HIM alone. Can you believe that?"

"Why would she do that?" Rufina asked.

"Probably district loyalty or something like that."

"Well Nick and Dayta don't seem to like each other." Hermina commented. "Whenever Nick wants to burn something, Dayta has a fit because he messed something up. And because he couldn't move anything with Dayta in the same room, he set MY bed on fire!"

The escorts gave a collective ooohh.

Nobody else had anything to say after that. They said their goodbyes and wished each other luck, and hoped that the stylists made the tributes bearable to look at during the chariot ride.

 **A/N: Short chapter is short.**

 **So here's the plan. Next chapter will be from the POV of a stylist, and after that will be the tributes.**

 **So guys, I've got another question. Do you think I should go look for pictures of the tributes so that it'll be easier for you to picture them? Or would you rather prefer to stick to your head canon on their appearances? I mean, the pictures you find on google usually offer pretty and handsome people, and these tributes, in head canon, aren't too much.**


	7. Chariots

**Chariot Dock**

Absurd.

They were absurd to think that he could of done anything to make his tribute this year look even the least bit attractive. Normally up for the challenge, the District Twelve stylist thought that Ryan Burnout would show off his skills as a stylist. But it had proven to be more of a struggle than anything else.

He felt that if he could make Ryan attractive, then the president would see just how skilled he was, and bump him up to a better district. But even through his hard work, his tribute had not come out the way he had planned.

For starters, Ryan looked even worse than the usual District Twelve tributes he normally had. And in person, Ryan looked even worse than he had on TV. Looking like an old man mixed in with a young boy, and an ugly looking boy at that, Ryan was nowhere near what he thought he'd be. But he still stepped up to the challenge, and attempted to do a good job on him.

The first problem was his tribute's looks. The District Twelve boy was deprived of food and sleep, tall and frail, making him look even more like a walking, barely stuffed scarecrow than the normal District Twelve tributes.

And Ryan was uncooperative, and the peacekeepers had to force him down onto the table and strap him down. It made it difficult to work with as he tried to fight his way out of his restrains. And when he saw the injuries on Ryan's body, he knew that he wasn't going to have time to fix all of him.

So the stylist, embarrassingly, went to his partner and told her that he wasn't going to unravel his plan until next year, when a better fitting tribute came in. That was when they decided to place Ryan and Ashton into old and dirty coal mining outfits. He felt that that was what the two of them deserved for ruining his long thought of plan.

The outfits were baggy on the two tributes, with Ashton's looking at least two sizes too big on her scrawny body as last year's girl had been taller and bigger than her. The stylists then spread black substances on their tribute's faces, hands, and clothes before placing lighted helmets on their heads.

Now looking at the other tributes and their chariot outfits, Justice felt that he was doing his tributes just that, justice. If it were up to him, he wouldn't of even put up with Ryan, but did so because it was his job.

That, and his prep-team had had to endure Ryan to make him look at least a little presentable. One of them had almost lost a couple of fingers because he wanted to whiten Ryan's teeth. A couple of strong painkillers and some bandages later, the man refused to place his hands near Ryan's head again.

Justice felt jealous of his partner. Ashton was cooperative, even if she were scared, and much better looking than Ryan. She would of been pretty if she weren't from the poor part of Twelve. Still, the black smug covered up their flaws, including Ryan's pre-mature winkles and injuries.

District One went off with Splendor and Radiance dressed up as a king and queen with fancy jewelry studded in their flowing purple robes and golden crowns. How Justice wished that he could of had those two tributes, even if Radiance was all gloomy looking, but at least her stylist managed to take those dark sags from under her eyes. Same with Splendor's stylist, they both looked less sleep deprived and better looking than when they had first arrived. Splendor was embracing the roaring crowd while Radiance gave half hearted waves.

In the District Two chariot, Thor was ripping his ceremonial gold armor from his body and tossing it over the side before replacing it with plain clothes. Justice could see Thor's stylist shouting at Thor to put his costume back on, but it was too late, the horses were moving, and he was out of reach. Thor laughed at his stylist as he raised his fist towards him and elevated his middle digit. Terra, who was still wearing her costume, seemed to give a little smile and giggle a little, but the smile looked fake and he couldn't hear the laugh.

As the District Three chariot went off, Justice couldn't help but notice that the circuit chip costumes were symmetrical to each other, and other followed a pattern. Four rows of lights in groups of four. And while Dayta seemed on edge, Nick was the one that was shaking the most. He was sweating and holding his hands together as his intertwined fingers pressed against his forehead. His burn marks were greatly faded, making him look much more human, but still tough. And with his gloves off, he could see that Nick didn't just have facial burns. Justice noticed that Nick was beginning to cry, which he thought was pathetic. If Nick really wanted to win, he wouldn't be crying at that moment.

The District Four chariot was soon off, and Blue was trying to make himself as small as possible. Not an easy thing to do since his costume. It was white with a tint of grey with a large, slightly curved fin on the back with a pointed snout on the top of the head. The costume was of a long and deadly shark. Marsha had her eyes closed, her hands were pressed against her ears, and she was spinning in place. She would of most definitely hit Blue with her back fin of if her district partner wasn't cowering on the floor. Justice wouldn't see either of them as careers, and wondered how their stylist felt about them. As the female stylist didn't have to do much for Marsha in terms of looks.

The District Five chariot followed shorter after with Anna, her face looking much less scabbed up, doing her usual jumping in place and talking while Spark was looking self conscious about his costume, even though he looked better after putting it on. His eyes looked less hollow and his skin looked like it had become a little more healthy. They were wearing overly long white lab coats with white shirts and pants underneath. As Spark continued to hold his hands around his middle and sides. Anna suddenly stopped jumping, closed her eyes and covered her ears, and started to scream as she fell to her knees. She started acting just like Marsha. Justice wondered what her problem was all of a sudden.

District Six came up next, and the two tributes were dressed trains, and that didn't surprise Justice. He wasn't surprised either by seeing Diesel looking around all paranoid like, nor to see Lexus shaking, crying, and looking scared as well. What he was surprised about though was that the trains were non-reflective, and that the two tributes of District Six were standing close together and practically pressed against each other. But never looking at each other.

The District Seven tributes were dressed up as chainsaws, and Justice thought that it suited the tall and intimidating looking Carver. Though, Carver was intimidating in height and size only, he had yet to see him be threatening by other means than just those traits. And while the costumes themselves were intimidating as well as interesting, the tributes themselves didn't seem to give a damn. Carver and Ivy, like Marsha and Anna, had their eyes closed and hands pressed to their ears, but they weren't screaming or shaking like those two. Instead, they just looked extremely uncomfortable.

Of the District Eight tributes, they were the calmest since Nick and Dayta. Stream and Paige were both dressed up as spools of thread, nothing too spectacular. What was spectacular though was that Stream didn't look angry, but something else. He looked, tired? Justice couldn't figure it out exactly. Paige on the other hand was looking over each other her shoulders, like she wanted the entire thing to be done and over with. Even so, Paige looked better since her stylist decided to place some flesh coloured make-up on her, while Stream's acne had significantly decreased.

Likewise, the District Nine tributes were almost as calm as the tributes in front of them. Both the tributes were dressed up in costumes that might of been skimpy if it weren't for what Justice expected from them. Zora and Harvey were both wearing dresses that were made from wheat grass, and while they looked uncomfortable in their outfits, they weren't making a big show of it. Harvey was pulling at his costume and examining it with thought as Zora did the same, but with rage.

Of District Ten, the outfits they were wearing were the most casual. They were both wearing coveralls that were half done up with flannel shirts, heavy work boots and straw hats. Both the tributes didn't mind their costumes, and while Falco did look like he was thinking about something a little, he didn't let it fill his mind as he waved to the crowd and such. Mink did the same thing. Of them all, they looked like they would of been the most cooperative. Justice congratulated the stylists who got them, noting that they had covered up their pre-mature wrinkles that had been near the eyes.

District Eleven's costumes were simple, as both of them were dressed up as fruits. Trail, who was looking anywhere and everywhere, was dressed up as an apple, while Soya was dressed as a wooden crate and was chained down. He had heard that Soya had a habit of wandering off, so he guessed that the chains were for just that. And it was a good thing at that, because Soya looked like she wanted to get out of there. Like the tributes from Nine and Ten, they too had their pre-mature wrinkles covered up.

And last but not least, were his and his partner's tributes. Ryan and Ashton were dressed as coal miners, an almost cliche costume. Ashton looked like she was tired while Ryan looked like he wanted to cry. Ashton was leaning on Ryan, probably so that she didn't fall when she eventually fell asleep for some reason.

As soon as his tribute's chariot was on the road, Justice went into a separate chariot that would get him and the other stylists and prep-teams to the presidential palace.

As soon as him and his partner's prep-teams, as well as themselves, got into the large chariot, they looked to the other stylists and their prep-teams. Each and every one of them looked exhausted. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.

"How bad?" Justice asked, not wanting to beat around the bush.

"Horrible." They all answered at once.

"Zora didn't want to cooperate and started lashing out on us." The District Nine female stylist moaned. "Said that it was a stupid costume and had the nerve that she's criticize it."

"That girl Lexus fought against us when we told her to face the crowd." The District Six female stylist told everyone.

"Did you see what Thor did?" The District Two male stylist said, waving his arms around dramatically. "He fought and fought, and when we finally managed to get it on him and get him to his chariot, he ripped the entire thing off and flipped us off!"

"I know how you feel." The District Six male stylist groaned. "We had to make the costume non-reflective at the last minute because Diesel thought we were on the same side as the evil ghosts or something."

The stylists shared their horror stories of uncooperative and hard to dress tributes while the prep-teams were telling everyone how hard it was to try and make the tributes look good.

From what Justice had seen, the prep-teams had done a good job with the tributes that they had gotten, but there was a limit to what they could do with the time and supplies they had. For most of the tributes, they hair was cut, styled, or both, while they were also cleaned and cleared of anything undesirable.

Unwanted facial and body hair had been removed, make up had been applied after pimples were popped. Nails had been filled and cleaned. Teeth had been whitened and generally simple things had been applied.

But in the end, most of the tributes still didn't look the greatest. As far as Justice thought, it would of been a miracle if anyone could get most of those tributes to look desirable. Really, only three of them looked great.

"To think that I was looking forward to this year." The District Five female stylist sighed as she placed her palms onto her face. "I thought we were going to get some handsome psychos, like the movies, or previous games. But instead, we get these freaks."

Just about everybody nodded with her and agreed. In previous years, there were some pretty ugly tributes, and there were psychos, and sometimes a tribute was both, but those were very rare. Most of the time tributes were simply average, boring in both looks and history. But now they weren't getting interesting psychos, or even good looking ones. Instead, they were just getting ugly kids with mental disorders that made them strange.

"The best we can hope for is that they give us a good show." Justice told his fellow co-workers. "Diesel is crazy, so he's more than likely to attack anyone that he sees in the arena. My tribute, Ryan, seems to be under the control of his emotions, so he'll let his emotions do the work for him. And Terra seems to be faking emotions, I think she's a sociopath or something, so she'll be able to kill without remorse."

At those words, the Capitol workers began to nod more and more before they eventually started to smile. Justice knew that his words were true, and so did his co-workers.

Yes. Those kids weren't right in the head, but that's what would make them good in the arena. Justice laid back and waited for their arrival at the presidential palace, knowing that in a few short days, that no matter how much the tributes annoyed them, the Capitol would get the last laugh. The tributes were nothing more than show dogs that went into a fight pit and killed each other for the entertainment of their masters.

Yes. No matter how much the dogs fights back against their masters, the masters were the ones that held the leash.

"So if Terra's a sociopath," The District Two female stylist said. "What do you think the others are."

"Well guessing from the injuries my tribute has..."

The stylists and prep-team members gave their opinions to each other until they reached the president's mansion to pick up their tributes.

 **A/N: Last chance to try and guess what the tributes disorders are. I know that there isn't much information about the tributes yet, but I couldn't do it without reveling everything. Prize for who guesses the most or whatever.**

 **Anyway, I managed to find pictures of the tributes, because truthfully, I've been collecting them ever since I finished the reaping chapters, and I'm okay with most of them. But do you know how hard it is to find dark skinned people? That's why I'm not too satisfied with Blue, Carver, Diesel, Harvey, and Ryan. And Lexus' hair needs to be frizzy and such. Nick needs burn marks, Falco needs to be tanned, Dayta's hair needs to be more wavy, Ryan's eyes are grey. ETC ETC and such. The link to the pictures is in my profile.**

 **WARNING: LOOKING AT PICTURES MIGHT DESTROY HEAD CANON OF WHAT THE CHARACTERS LOOK LIKE. BUT I AM ALSO GOING TO GIVE OUT A PRIZE TO SOMEONE THAT SPOTS WHAT'S ODD ABOUT THE PICTURES OF THE TRIBUTES.**

 **Anywho, next few chapters will be from the POV of the tributes (some of them).**


	8. Training Day 1 Part 1

**Tribute Floor #6**

She didn't want to go.

What they didn't understand right now was that she didn't want to go downstairs. In fact, she didn't even want to get out of bed, but they forced her out of bed on the demand of her escort. They were the ones that wanted her to go down and make a fool of herself. Them and the rest of the Capitol.

"I'm not going down." The girl told them as she crossed her arms across her chest. Her eyes were looking away from the escort and were facing towards the wall instead.

"You are going to go down there." The escort told her as she crossed her arms across her chest and shot her a dirty look. "You have no choice."

"You mean you ain't giving me a choice." Lexus countered nervously.

"The Capitol wants you to learn how to fight and learn some kind of skills for the games."

"Well what if I don't want to learn anything? What if I just want to stay right here."

"Look," The escort sighed as she pressed a hand to her forehead. "You're going to go down to the training center and learn some things. It'll give you a better chance of survival in the arena. Isn't that what you want? To live?" Lexus didn't answer, but she continued to look away and not make eye contact. "I think you do," The escort continued. "So go down there, learn something, and win some sponsors."

"No." Lexus spat. She knew exactly what would happen if she went down to the training center, and she wasn't looking forward to it. So instead, she was just going to stay in her room and avoid that disaster. Because she wanted to live.

Besides, she knew that sponsors weren't interested in her. On her looks alone she was a mess. Short, frizzy brown hair that only went away temporarily because of Capitol chemical hair products, a muscular upper body that contrasted with her weaker legs, and narrow dark brown eyes. She wasn't ugly, but she wasn't pretty either, and that was enough to get the Capitol uninterested in her. But if that wasn't enough, there was her reaping. Lexus shuddered as she remembered her reaction when she heard her name be called.

The escort then gave off a little growl, dropping all the niceness she had mustered.

"You're going down there!" The escort shouted. "Wither you want to or not!"Lexus backed up a couple of steps, worried about what was about to happen. An angry Capitol citizen was never a good sign. But even though she was scared, Lexus didn't want to go down to the training center.

Disastrous thoughts flowed through her mind, each worse than the next. If she went down there, she'd make a fool of herself. She wouldn't learn anything and just make herself look incompetent. The other tributes would laugh at her and the gamemakers would see just how unskilled she was. And when the private session came, she wouldn't of learned anything and the gamemakers would give her a low score. The Capitol would see her low score, and all her already low chance for sponsors would become non-existent. Lexus found that her arms were rubbing against each other, but paid little attention to them as her heartbeat increased.

At least if she stayed on this floor she wouldn't make herself look like a fool as much. So she was going to stay, wither they wanted it or not. It was for the better. Couldn't they see that?

"I'm staying here." Lexus said as she stamped her foot on the floor to solidify her point.

The escort then huffed and retreated into her room before the District Six girl gave off a smile of triumph. She instantly relaxed. She knew that she made the right choice, even if it didn't seem like it to the escort.

But then Lexus started to have second thoughts about the entire situation, and wondered if the escort was going to do something to her. After all, she had disobeyed the Capitol, and all her life she was told to abide by the Capitol's rules. If you didn't follow the rules, you'd get punished.

Was she going to get punished because she refused to go downstairs? She wasn't sure, but the escort was mad, and things didn't look good from her point of view. She started to wonder which was worse, making a fool of herself and getting no sponsors, or suffering whatever punishment her escort was going to give her.

What was her punishment going to be? A whipping? Starvation? Maybe she was going to sew her mouth shut so that she couldn't talk back anymore. Terror washed over the girl as she started to shake. The room suddenly felt cold and she hugged herself even tighter as she thought of what might happen to her. "Calm down Lexus." She told herself, trying to calm herself down, but not doing a very good job. "She can't do anything to you. The Capitol needs their tributes for the games. But what if they don't? What if they don't need all the tributes? I mean, twenty three is still enough, right?" The sixteen year old then began to pace back and forth across the room as she continued to talk to herself. "And even if they aren't going to kill me, they could just slap me around a little. Or they could do much worse to me, much worse. I mean, a tribute only has to be alive... Right? And what if my family's the one that has to take the pain because of me?"

Lexus then grabbed the sides of her head as she mentally and physically screamed at herself. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Why? Why does this have to be so hard?"

Lexus remembered her mother telling her to not second guess herself too much and to try and relax while she was in the Capitol, but it was proving near impossible. She couldn't help but think, and that thinking lead to second guessing. That second guessing would lead to even more fear, and it would lead to bad choices and even worse consequences. The girl then found herself shaking slightly. "You screwed up Lexus. You fucking screwed up bad."

"Now then !" The familiar voice of the escort shouted, causing Lexus to turn and face her once again. This time the escort wasn't alone. Five peacekeepers were flanking her sides, and Lexus felt her heart start to beat even faster in her chest and the colour drain from her face. Her fingers digging deeper into her skull. She was going to get whipped, she was sure of it. "We can either do this the easy way." The escort then nodded her head towards the peacekeeper to her immediate right. "Or the hard way. It makes no difference to me."

Lexus considered her options, and made her choice.

 **Capitol Training Center**

"What's taking them?"

That was the question on her mind. And she felt that it was on everyone else's mind as well, though the little boy from Eight was the only one that had spoken it out loud.

"Maybe they're having trouble with something." Anna, the District Five girl that couldn't stand still piped up. "You think they're having trouble with something? If not, I'm open to suggestions."

Nobody answered, but a lot of them were shifting uncomfortably. Soya knew that feeling, even if she wasn't feeling it at the moment. She was just glad that she hadn't felt it for a while. Of course, the last time she felt it it was yesterday during the chariot ride, but there had been all those people. All those people looking at her and talking about her. She had told her stylist that it was a bad idea to sent her out there, out in the open for all to see, but they wouldn't listen.

She had seen the way other tributes had reacted during their ride on the chariot re-caps. She knew how they felt, it came to no surprise to her that some of them had freaked out. The escorts and stylists didn't see it that way though. They had said that the kids should of sucked it up and press their fears down. Like it was easy and something that could be controlled.

Soya couldn't help but tisk at that memory. If it were that easy, they wouldn't being having difficulties, would they?

All of a sudden, the silence of the room was broken by the hysterical screams of a girl. Everyone looked in that direction, to see the missing District Six tributes inside their elevator. But it wasn't just them. With them were five peacekeepers, and all five of them were trying, and failing, to push the girl out of the doors. Her arms and legs pressing against the sides of the elevator doors, preventing her from being shoved out.

"Get out there you little bitch!" A peacekeeper grunted loudly.

"NO!" The girl shouted back.

It was then that the peacekeepers each grabbed a limb of the girl, pulled her away from the doors, and tossed her out. The frizzy haired girl landed on the floor with a thud as her district partner, who had his eyes closed and hands pressed against his ears, was shoved out of the elevator.

The peacekeepers then grabbed an arm each of the girl and dragged her to where she was supposed to stand and threw her to the ground again. Her partner cooperated, but still had to be roughly shoved twice before he got to the spot he was supposed to be in.

As the peacekeepers backed away, Soya heard the girl breathing heavily. "Oh God." The girl said fearfully. "Oh God."

"Hey piss pants!" A voice coming from the District Two male shouted. "What took you so long? Had to change and shower before arriving?"

"Fuck off will you!" The District Five girl shouted to the District Two boy.

"No! You fuck off!" Thor told Anna. "Piss pants over there has made us stand here for far too long!"

"Oh yeah, and you didn't keep us waiting either?" Splendor yelled at Thor.

A shouting match between Anna, Splendor, and Thor erupted as Soya noticed Lexus was now shaking and looked like she was going to cry. The District Six girl hugged herself and was whispering to herself. Soya felt like saying something kind to the girl, but a rough, booming voice cut her off.

"Well well well!" The voice said loudly. "Looks like everyone's finally fucking here!" Everyone shut up and turned to the new person, and saw a very athletic looking man in his mid-thirties walking swiftly towards them. "I am head trainer Thorn! What took everyone so long? Needed to-"

"What's with the stupid hat?" Anna asked with a broad grin, pointing to the hat on top of the man's head. It was drab green with a flat brim all the way around the entire hat. It looked pretty goofy, and apparently, a lot of other tributes agreed as snickers escaped from various tributes.

Head trainer Thorn continued to walk until he reached the center of all the tributes like he hadn't heard the comment about his hat. He cast his eyes on Anna before he spoke again.

"Anna Leptick fro-"

"District Five?" Anna finished. "Yes and yes."

"Come over here a second."

Anna then half walked half ran to the head trainer until she was four feet away from him. "I've heard about you people and how messed up-"

"We're not messed up." Anna interrupted with a look of anger on her face, but Thorn kept on going like she hadn't said anything.

"You kids are. Well I'll let you all know one thing." Thorn then grabbed Anna with his left hand and slammed a right fist right in her stomach. Anna let out a loud exhale of air, along with other tributes who let out a collective gasp. Soya felt the air leave her lungs as well, she was used to seeing this back home in District Eleven, peacekeepers assaulting the citizens. It was harsh, brutal, and had various levels of effectiveness.

For some people, it was very effective. For others, they needed a bit more punishing. But for people like Soya, ones that couldn't be fixed with a simple beating or whipping, the effectiveness was nearly non-existent. Soya felt the scars on her back tingle painfully and started to feel something rise from within her.

No, Soya thought. Not now.

Anna's legs buckled before she fell to the floor, clutching her stomach and trying to breathe properly again. Her mouth was open with shock and pain and her eyes were wide. For once, she wasn't moving too much. But then her entire body seemed to give out small, but rapid, twitches.

Swears escaped mouths before Thorn started to talk again. "There will be no fucking around while I'm here!"

"You say that as you're fucking with us?" Thor shouted angrily. "I think you need to be taught a lesson as well!" Thor then slammed a fist into his open palm with a loud smack.

Thorn looked to Thor and smiled.

"Thor Houghton of District Two. Yes, I've heard of you. Wannabe rebel, been giving your district a bit of trouble." The trainer then spread his arms widely. "Take a swing at me Thor! Show us just how tough you are!"

Even though he was both shorter and less muscular than his opponent, Thor charged at Thorn and swung his fist at him. Thorn easily ducked under the wild swing and upper cutted Thor. Thor fell onto his butt with a thud before Thorn delivered three devastating punches to the face. Thor fell onto his back and groaned. "That all you got?" Thorn taunted before he grabbed the boy by the shirt and forced him up.

The two came face to face before Thor slammed his forehead into the trainer's face. The trainer, though he now had a bit of blood coming from out of his mouth, smiled. "That's it?" And then smashed his head into Thor's. A wet crack occurred, and Thor was once again on the ground, but clutching his nose this time and yelling.

Thorn let go of Thor and spat saliva mixed with blood at him. "Pathetic."

Soya felt the tension in her body increase as her hands turned into fists. She fought against her instincts.

"Hey! Why don't you pick on someone your own size!" Soya then saw that the District Seven boy, Carver, had stepped up and was now looking down at the trainer from his immense height. "Or are you too afraid to fight me?"

Again, the trainer just smiled, and Soya had a bad feeling about this.

"Carver Greene of District Seven." The trainer said calmly, steadily. Unafraid of the giant of the teenager in front of him, who looked even stronger than even him. "You honestly think I'm afraid of you?" Suddenly, a loud crackling sound occurred as Carver screamed and fell to the floor as his body twitched uncontrollably. "And do you honestly think I'm stupid enough to risk fighting you right here and now? I need to make sure that you all train, and I can't afford an injury that puts me out of commis-"

Thorn stopped speaking, and turned his head down. Soya followed his eyes, and saw Thor grabbing the man at the back of the knees and trying to force him down. Thorn just snorted and twisted his body in such a way that Thor was face down on the floor again. Thorn then got on top of Thor, grabbed his right arm, and started to twist it. Thor screamed as Thorn hissed at him. "Know your place. You will address me as Trainer Thorn, or Sir. And no more of this rebellious bullshit either. You got me?"

"Go to Hell!" Thor shouted, before Thorn twisted his arm even more. Soya felt tension building into her chest before she heard the sickening crack of an arm being broken. The air was filled with agony and screams of other tributes. Thor was cursing up a storm. Soya hardly noticed what was going on around her as she felt an all powerful sensation try to take over her.

No. Soya thought. Not yet. Not with that man here.

Soya started to try and think of something else. Anything else. She looked at Thor's arm, and saw that it was bent the wrong way. She heard someone vomiting and heard others muttering loudly. Soya blinked rapidly, her head started to twitch, and her teeth clamped together tightly as unwanted thoughts invaded her mind.

Stay out! Stay out! I don't want to leave! I don't want to leave!

Soya knew that being in the Capitol was different from being back home in District Eleven. Even if it wasn't the best idea to wander back in the district, she could still go around. But now that she was in the Capitol, she didn't think she could go anywhere even if she wanted to.

Her body tried to get her to move, and Soya could feel her body complying. The girl fought against her instincts and forced her body to stay still. Or as still as she could get it to be.

* * *

He had known all along.

It wasn't as if it wasn't obvious, but seeing the head trainer break Thor's arm, just like that, only confirmed that everyone was against him even more.

They had wanted to get rid of him, and they had succeeded. He didn't know how his family had convinced the Capitol to draw his name out, but he had always known that they had wanted him gone. And now here he was, in the Capitol, being watched over by a sadistic trainer that didn't give a fuck whether or not they were in tip top condition or not.

"Get that boy to the fucking infirmary." Thorn told a couple of avoxes before said avoxes dragged Thor to the medical bay. The guy from Two continued to swear and fight against the avoxes as they helped him to the infirmary.

Blue looked at the other tributes on the ground. Anna had gotten slugged in the solar plexus because she couldn't keep her mouth shut and Carver was on the ground, shot by condensed lighting, because he thought he could scare Thorn. Blue could see now that the Capitol thought of them as less than tributes than normal. It was just like being back in District Four, people like him and Marsha were less than human because of whatever they were suffering from.

Blue looked past his fellow tributes, and saw gamemakers looking down at them from a higher ground. They were talking to themselves, looking at the tributes with a mixture of pity and disgust. Blue knew what they were thinking. They were thinking about how pathetic they all were. How stupid they were. They were thinking of how to screw with the tributes and how to make the most of their deaths.

In the meantime, him and his fellow tributes would entertain them by showing off what they could do with weapons and how well they could fight. All the more to come up with ideas on what or what not to do for the arena.

The tributes didn't like them, so in turn, the gamemakers didn't like them. That was the way it worked. But while he knew that he didn't like the gamemakers because they were thinking of how to kill him and make him suffer in the name of entertainment, he knew that the gamemakers didn't like him because he wasn't like a regular tribute.

Blue tried not to give the Capitol any kind of satisfaction, and he was sure they were watching their every move. As a result, he tried to not comprise himself as possible. He talked to his escort as least as possible, and didn't talk to any of the avoxes. He didn't even like to use the bathroom because he was sure that there were microscopic video cameras watching him in there as well. As a result, his now shorter black hair had gotten greasy and he was sure that the pimples that the prep-team had popped on his face were growing back.

Thorn then gave us instructions on what to do in this training center. The rules were that we weren't allowed to fight each other, kill each other, or poison each other while they were under his watch. Blue found that funny, because they weren't allowed to hurt each other, but Thorn was allowed to hurt them in turn.

"Does that mean we can fight you?" Splendor asked. Blue couldn't help but face palm. Splendor wanted them to die. Didn't he just see what Thorn had done to Anna, Thor, and Carver?

"Do you really want-" Thorn started, but Splendor cut him off.

"Maybe later." Blue noticed that Splendor was blinking really bizarrely and his smile was twitching.

Nobody spoke after that, but Blue could hear the sounds of Anna trying to breathe regularly again and several grunts.

After several moments, Thorn spoke again.

"All right then. Tributes... Disperse!"

"FINALLY!" Splendor yelled before he ran up to Anna and pulled her to her feet. "How are you feeling?" He swiftly asked asked. "Not good? Well you did get hit in the solar plexus, so your bound to not be able to breathe properly for a little bit longer. Don't worry, you'll be fine though. Just breathe in and out gently and it'll be over before you know it. Or not. I can't remember. All right, good, recover quickly." And with that, Splendor ran off.

Most of the tributes left just shrugged, but Blue had noticed that some of them had already ran off to do their own thing.

Blue looked at the others and saw the stations that they were going to. That burnt kid was at the fire making station and was furiously striking flint and steel together. That tiny looking girl from Ten was at the hand to hand station while the District Five male was joining Splendor on the obstetrical course.

He wondered what they were all up to. What they were going to do and how that would affect him. How were they going to use the training days against him. Blue knew that they were conspiring something against him. Not all of them maybe, but most likely the other careers. After all, he didn't know what the non-career districts thought of people like him, but from his experiences in District Four, the chances that Districts One and Two thought along the same lines was expected.

He saw the District Two girl, Terra, working on tridents while the District Nine boy was working on spears. And the knife section had more than one person working on them and the net making station already had Marsha working on it.

Seeing all of that, he was sure that they were all plotting against him. He was sure of it.

* * *

This wasn't her life.

Though at the same time, she knew that it was just as much her life that was at stake as it was hers. And though Mink didn't much care for that girl's life, she did value her own. And that was why she was currently practicing her hand to hand combat against one of the trainers.

While Mink was short, boney, and young looking, she had gained strength from working on a farm all her life. Lifting crates and bales of hay had made her strong, while chasing around animals and running from point to point on a large area of land had given her speed and stamina. But what she quickly found out was that despite those advantages, she wasn't skilled in the art of fighting, nor was she tough enough to endure the blows that were being delivered to her.

The trainer was doing his best to teach Mink how to fight well, but the farm girl was finding it hard to learn all those moves he was trying to teach her. She understood the basic ones. Jab, cross, uppercut, stuff like that. But then there were the counters. She was fine when it was played out step by step, but when it came to her unexpectedly, that was where the trouble started.

Now on the floor again, Mink was getting really tired to having to get off her ass and looking forward to getting knocked down again.

"You're improving." The trainer said to her encouragingly. But with all his good intentions in his voice, Mink couldn't help but feel as if she were being mocked at. This guy kept on beating her into the ground for the past she didn't know how long, but her body was beginning to protest against her and she wanted nothing more than to just lay down and quit. But she knew that she couldn't quit. She could work with a weapon, if she manged to get one, but if worst came to worst and she was weaponless and someone came at her, she needed to know how to defend herself. Even if just a little. She didn't want to become an Anna to a Thorn. "Should I go over the maneuver once more?"

"No." Mink huffed as she held her hand up. "Just. Give me. A minute." She was tired and hurting. She had known that fighting hurt, but she didn't think that it hurt so much, or that it sucked the energy out of you faster than a hard day's work of moving hay barrels or rounding up animals. How tributes in the previous games managed to fight for so long was beyond her.

Looking at her competition, Mink gathered that she'd have to look out of the careers, as usual. Though some of them didn't seem to be much of a threat. The District Four girl was giggling to herself as she tied knots together, and the District One girl was lazily poking around the foliage section.

She heard someone shouting, and turned to see that the District One guy was chasing around the District Ten boy with a sword as a trainer tried to stop the entire thing. She looked around for the District Two girl, but didn't see her around.

Mink then scanned the area, and saw what she considered was the biggest threat of the game. Carver of District Seven. He was swinging a heavy axe around like nobody's business. She didn't want to be anywhere near him in the arena, even if he was unarmed and she had a machete. He looked strong enough to pick her up and crush her skull with one hand.

She looked around some more, and saw the others she thought where bigger threat than everyone else. Spark from District Five looked like he was both fit and strong, even if he did look unhealthy at the same time for some reason. Diesel would be bigger on her threat list if he wasn't so absorbed in whatever was sending him over the edge. Lexus had a muscular frame, but she looked so scared that Mink crossed her off her threat list.

And then there was Trail and Soya because they were muscular as well. But strength didn't mean everything. There was Nick from District Three, who seemed fascinated with fire. And while he didn't look as strong as tributes that came from the career district, or from Seven or Eleven or a district that required hard labor, he was larger than most District Three tributes. That, and Mink felt that in the arena, Nick would find a way to burn anyone that crossed his path.

Mink looked at each and every tribute though, and saw all of them as a threat. No matter what condition they had, they were still a threat to her, because when it came down to it, only one could survive.

"You ready to continue?" The trainer asked. Mink glared at him, wondering how he thought that she was ready while pure agony was still coursing through her body. She bared her teeth at him and thought of all those stupid moves that he was trying to teach her. Counter this with that, counter that with this. She couldn't keep up. He would swing, and she'd try to stop him, only for her to end up doing the wrong thing and ending up on her butt.

"You think I'm ready?" She asked with her voice laced with venom.

"Yeah?" The trainer answered before he helped Mink up. Mink didn't appreciate the kind gesture, but didn't say anything. Only glared. "Okay, get into position."

Mink raised her arms into a fighting stance, and as the trainer explained what was going to happen, Mink thought about the arena and fighting in it.

Why do I have to know all those fancy moves? She wondered. In the arena, I'm not going to remember all those maneuvers. So why should I bother? I should just fight how I want to fight. Fight like my life depends on it, because in the arena, it ain't going to be a nice and comfy trainer that likes to play with you, it's a tribute fighting for their life.

Mink then decided that she was going to do the fighting her way, like she was fighting in the arena.

A little voice inside her asked if the trainer would appreciate her doing that. She replied to it: That's future Mink's problem.

"Okay." Mink said when the trainer was finished speaking, not hearing a word he had said. "I'm ready."

When the trainer swung, she simply swung faster, and hit him right in the stomach. Her fist bounced off his stomach, but the surprise caught him off guard, allowing Mink to jump on him and swing her fists wildly at his face as she screamed at him like an animal.

Mink hit him repeatedly before she felt herself being she felt hands grab her from behind and pull her off the trainer. Mink saw that it was a couple of other trainers that had pulled her off.

"What the hell?" Her trainer asked with both shock and surprise as she saw the damage she had done to him. He had a split lip and he was holding his face in pain. Mink just smiled at him and thought to herself. That's how you fight in the arena, none of that fancy pancy bullshit.

Future Mink would be proud.

 **A/N: So here's the plan: Three days of training split into six chapters. Then there's going to be an interview chapter. After that, there's going to be a night before the games session that's going to be split into three or something chapters. And then the games! So look forward to at least seven more chapters before the game.**

 **Oh yeah, and cancel my note in the last chapter saying that it's your last chance to guess their conditions. You've got until... I decide to give out their conditions. And if it goes as planned, it won't be until after the interviews. Remember... There's a prize. A PRIZE PEOPLE!**


	9. Announcement

For those still following and reading this fic. I'm finally back (hopefully).

So, what has happened in my life? Basic military training. I passed that and am now a solider. That's what's been keeping me away from writing, but now I have time to actually write (hopefully).

So now for the only part of this you actually care about. Next chapter I'd like to come out in about ten days, but no promises.


	10. Training day 1 Part 2

**Capitol Training Center**

He was always with her.

Not that she minded in the least, it was just surprising to her that he would willingly want to be with her. After all, most people tended to avoid her because back home, all she was was the girl that wanted to sleep all the time.

Ashton Meeker, though she slept more than anyone else she knew, didn't do it because she wanted to, it was because she had to. She was forced to sleep against her will. If it were her choice, she would of liked to only sleep eight hours a day. Instead, she slept considerably more than that.

She tried to find ways around it. At least, things that wouldn't hurt her in the long term. She tried coffee, exercise, sleeping well at night, the safe things. Much to her misery, none of those things worked. Even that one sugar and caffeine rush failed to work. And when it was over, she was more tired than ever, and was sick for days.

There were more powerful things available, but the things that she heard that worked were harmful to her, and she didn't want to do those things. District Twelve was already harmful enough in her mind.

She looked to her district partner and saw the damage that she could of suffered from if she had given in.

Ryan Burnout was smoking yet another cigarette and was blowing foul, pungent smelling chemicals from his mouth. She hated that smell, and it seemed to linger in the air where ever her district partner just happened to be.

And along with what she had seen and heard about Ryan, Ryan was more than likely just like her. A loner. A person that was hard to be around.

Ashton had seen first hand that Ryan was a bitter person with emotional problems, but she didn't hate Ryan. If anything, she enjoyed the company of the unstable teen because she just wanted to be around someone and not be alone.

Sure she had Fay and her parents back home, but that was it. She would of liked it if more people would just hang out with her and not judge her because of her condition. But that was wishful thinking.

She could hear the comments of the kids back home. 'She cares more about sleep than about us.' 'She doesn't care about being with others, so why should we bother?' 'If she wants to choose sleep over being with us, we should let her.'

So her friends left her. They all left her until all that was left was Fay. And Ashton wondered how much longer their friendship would last until Fay disappeared and left her alone in the world. Everyone else had left her, why not her? And when that happened, would she beg and try and explain that her one and only friend left was important to her, or would she let Fay walk away? Begging and explaining didn't work with her previous friends, why would if work on Fay?

Ashton tried to remember exactly what she had said to her previous friends, but all that was a blur. She couldn't remember anything clearly, only fragments of the conversation. She remembered saying to them that she'd try to stay awake more. Did they respond? She couldn't remember. There was shouting, but she couldn't remember if it was from her or her former friends that did that.

She had to wonder if she was really such a bad friend, all because she slept more than the average person? Because when her eyes became heavy she would plant herself down where ever and sleep? Yes it was rude, but was it something that her friends used as an excuse? Was it her condition that they couldn't tolerate, or was it her?

Would she end up like Ryan? A loner with a sour attitude?

"What do you think of the Capitol?" Ashton asked her district partner, wanting to break the silence between them. And to get away from her thoughts.

"I hate everything about it," Ryan venously spat out. "And they hate everything about me, so we have that much in common."

"Who has that in common? You and me? Or you and the Capitol?" Ashton calmly asked.

"Do you hate the Capitol as well?"

"Well I don't hate everything about it but-"

"Then just myself and the Capitol." Ryan interjected harshly. "If you don't hate everything about them, then we don't have that in common."

Ashton would of liked to tell him that not everything in the Capitol was so bad. After all, they did supply them with food and had made her look better than she ever had in her life. She liked seeing how the Capitol lived and how much her life might of changed if her family hadn't needed to spend money on her medication.

But on the flip side, she didn't like that she was going into a deadly game where she'd have to fight for her life, all in the name of entertaining the very people that her district hated. And the reason that they were feeding her and the reason that they were making her look exceptional was because they wanted her to look her best and preform her best for the game.

There were some pluses to going to the Capitol, but she could think of a lot more negatives.

"You can't hate EVERYTHING about the Capitol, can you?" She curiously asked, wondering if all Ryan could see were the negatives.

"I can." Ryan answered bitterly as he crushed his cigarette in his fist. He winced a little, but that was it. Ashton wondered if he was used to crushing burning cigarettes with his hands. "And I do. The food they're serving us? We're just turkeys being stuffed before the festival. I ain't going to love the Capitol because they're stuffing us for slaughter."

"Well you should eat something so that-" Ashton started, but didn't finish as Ryan directed his anger at her.

"So that I can be a Capitol bitch like you!" He yelled, causing several heads to turn towards their table.

Fear washed over Ashton as she looked at Ryan and his intense grey eyes that were burning with anger. Anger that hadn't subdued since this morning. She had wondered how he could be angry for so long, and right now, she wished she hadn't said anything to him because of that anger.

She had been shouted at before. She had made people angry before. But for the first time ever, she saw that someone other than a peacekeeper wanted to harm her. She didn't know what to do, and she tried to work something in her mind as she slowly processed what could be the best course of action. But of course, her delayed response only fuelled Ryan's rage. "Answer me!"

Ashton felt pain erupt in her left cheek and found herself laying on the floor. She cupped her cheek and looked up at Ryan in both fear and surprise. Ryan was holding up his right hand and looking down at her with pure, unadulterated rage. It took her several moments to realize that he had slapped her. And had slapped her hard.

She had been slapped before, but it was gentle slaps to try and keep her awake or people trying to wake her up. What Ryan had done had done was something an attacker would of done. All Ashton could do was stare at him in silence, and all that seemed to do was make Ryan angrier.

Ryan looked down at her for a couple more seconds before he pulled back his right leg. It took Ashton time to see it coming, and she wasn't ready to defend herself.

She moved her arms too late, and Ryan's kick hit her square in the ribs, causing her to gasp out in extreme pain before she curled herself tightly into her chest.

Ashton expected another attack to happen. Instead, she heard the sound of a younger boy screaming like a mad man.

* * *

He hated abusers.

As soon as he had heard Ryan shouting at his district partner, Falco Naylar felt himself get triggered. He didn't see Ashton Meeker getting shouted at and getting hit, he saw his sister getting shouted at and hit. And that infuriated him.

In general, Falco hated those that picked on the weak. He especially hated when someone picked on someone that couldn't, or wouldn't, fight back to save their life.

Like back home. His sister, Hilly, was strong and stuff, but she was unwilling to fight back, especially against people that she cared about. That made her open to abuse, because if she cared about you, she wasn't going to hurt you back. That was what he hated about her friends, especially her jackass boyfriends. They thought that they could take advantage of her physically and mentally.

She would say that everything was fine and dandy, but he knew better. It was that feeling. That feeling so intense that it couldn't be wrong. Screw what other people said. Screw what other people would show him. He knew what he knew, and nothing was going to change that.

Hilly was his only sister, and while she was his oldest sibling, it was still a brother's job to defend his sister. That was one of the first things that his father had taught him, and he was going to follow through with it, even if that made him a villain in Hilly's eyes.

Paranoid. They said that he was paranoid, but it wasn't paranoia if the threat was real. Nobody believed him though, they said that he was just imagining things, that he worried too much. Because of that and the lack of evidence, because people usually only believe what they see unless someone else vouches for you, Falco had been labeled as crazy. And when that damn diagnoses and those stupid pills came, it only made things worse. Because of those two things, nobody would believe him when he would say things, thinking that he was just being paranoid again.

Falco hated that. He hated that people refused to trust him when something was happening, all because they wouldn't listen to him in the first place.

And having nearly constantly thinking of his sister since he had gotten reaped, those thoughts toyed with his mind. So he wasn't completely coming to Ashton's rescue, he was more coming to Hilly's rescue.

He didn't come to Anna's rescue because he had been too spaced out thinking of his family, and when he had learned what happened, he was mad at himself.

And now that his full attention was on the current abuser, he was more than ready to act.

Falco jumped out of his seat, grabbed the metal chair he had been sitting in, and charged towards Ryan while shouting like a demon straight out of Hell.

Before anyone could even comprehend what was happening, Falco got within striking range of the older teen and, with absolutely no hesitation, swung the metal object. Ryan only had enough time to look at Falco before chair striked him across the face. Ryan fell right to the ground before Falco smashed the chair into Ryan's face a second time with burning hot rage. The attack sent a thick spray of blood from Ryan's mouth.

"Think you're tough because you can push a girl around?" Falco screamed at him before slamming the chair into Ryan's ribs, causing Ryan to howl out in agony. "Do you! Do you!"

Falco was three years younger and shorter than Ryan, but while Ryan was severely malnourished, Falco had a muscular frame from working at a farm. That, and Falco was used to fighting people bigger and stronger than himself.

The boy from Ten raised his chair again before he felt immense pain erupt in the vulnerables between his legs. It caused him to wail out in pure agony before he dropped the chair and fall to his knees.

"Fuck you!" Ryan screamed before he shoot another sharp kick into Falco's balls. That attack caused Falco to fall onto his side as he clutched his heavily tingling testicles.

"Cheap. Shot." Falco managed to squeak out as both boys laid on the floor, unable to function properly as they both grabbed whatever body parts was hurting.

"What the fuck is going on here!" A loud and authoritative voice yelled as several pairs of heavy boots approached the two boys. Falco looked up and through the tears he had shedded, noticed that it was the head trainer, Thorn. The guy that had punched Anna, broke Thor's arm, and zapped Carver.

The man looked down at the pair of boys and the lone girl before he sighed aggressively. "A squabble between tributes, huh." He stated calmly, like he was looking at two toddlers arguing over a toy. "I said it once, but I'll say it again for the benefits of all you retards! No fighting in the fucking training room! Save your energy for the arena! We don't want you too injured before you enter the arena!"

Silence came over the training area for a moment before Thorn ripped Ryan to his feet. "On your feet. Get on your god damn feet!" Falco rubbed his eyes with his shirt sleeve and looked to see what he had done to Ryan. He saw that Ryan was bleeding from the mouth and side of the mouth and that he was clutching both his face and his ribs. Falco felt pride rise from within. He hoped that it would at least teach that asshole from Twelve not to hit a defenceless girl while he was around.

Thorn looked over Ryan and instructed him to go seek medical attention. Thorn looked down at Falco and pulled him to his feet as well. Thorn looked at him up and down before he was instructed to seek medical attention as well. Falco followed the order partly because he was assured that Ashton wouldn't be hurt by anyone, but also partly because he realized that while he cared about her wellbeing, she wasn't his sister.

Falco was dragging himself to the medical attendants when he heard Thorn order Ashton to go seek medical attention as well. Falco looked back and saw that Ashton was following him. And for the first time, he noticed that the three of them were being escorted by peacekeepers. That reassured him some, but not enough.

Falco quickly walked towards Ryan and got up in his face, or at least as much as he could as the escorting peacekeepers kept the two boys at a distance.

"If you even think about doing that to her again, I WILL end you." Falco threatened. Ashton might not be his sister, but he still hated people like Ryan. People that thought that they could get away with picking on the weak. Especially if that someone was a girl.

Ryan spat a thick stream of blood from his mouth that splattered on Falco's face.

"I'd like to see you try." Ryan growled back.

* * *

She wasn't like most tributes.

Even among the uniquely picked ones of this year, she was not like them.

For one, when the shouting between Ryan and Ashton occurred, she didn't pay any attention to it. To her, they were just annoying voices that were much too loud for her. She covered her ears and ignored them. And when Falco showed up and started to beat Ryan, she didn't very much care for that either. Her attention was towards something else. Her ropes.

If there was anything in the world that Marsha Trent loved in the world, it was ropes. There was just something so fascinating about ropes to her, but it wasn't like she could explain it though. She could try, but nobody would understand her. Nobody could understand her. Only herself and the invisible people that nobody but her were able to see.

People thought that she was crazy and stupid. She didn't think that she was crazy and stupid, and neither did her invisible friends. So why did the so called real people think that she were those two things? She didn't know, nor did she really care. She wasn't interested and them, and they weren't interested in her, simple as that.

Sure when she was younger she would interact with them, and they would do the same, but it was never the same. She didn't know what was up, but she somehow sensed that she and the other kids she interacted with weren't on the same level.

They said that she didn't understand the situations in front of her, that she didn't understand people. Maybe that was why they avoided her. Maybe that was why nobody wanted to be with her. She didn't know. But screw those people, she had other people. Better people. People that would listen and play with her and not be assholes about it.

Like the man in front of her right now. He was telling her that maybe she might want to learn something else other than just ropes. But no, she didn't want to try out anything else. She wasn't interested in the other stations, just the ropes, so she was going to stay there.

Her family didn't appreciate it, just like the guy in front of her. But she didn't notice that he was trying subtlety to get her to try out another station. She was absorbed the in the world of ropes, knots, and ways of making traps and other things you could make with a rope. And she loved it.

 _Wasn't there something there something that mommy and daddy had said to me and Cruise?_ Marsha thought as she tied a knot around a fake stick. _If you love something, you should peruse it? I think that's what they said. And right now, I love this._

Others back home had tried to get her to try other things at the academy. They tried to get her to spread out her interests. Tried to get her to train like a proper career, but Marsha would quickly lose interest most of the time and had a short attention span on many things. Ropes were where her interests lay.

Marsha was in the middle of completing her trap when a bright light shone in her face, causing her to feel a stabbing pain in her eyes and face. She screamed and covered her eyes before she started to spin around in a squatting position.

"Girl, I've been calling your name for the past three minutes. Why aren't you answering me?"

Of course, Marsha wasn't concerned about the woman's question, she was more concerned about her face and eyes. She wondered if they had been melted or something. She continued to scream and spin until she finally fell and started to roll around in a panic, wondering if she was going to be blind for the rest of her life. "Oh please." The woman said in an annoyed tone. "It's not like I actually hurt you or anything."

Marsha then felt a hand grab her, and it felt like some kind of wild animal with very rough skin had wrapped it's hand around her wrist. She yelled out in terror before she started to shake her body violently, wanting to remove the hand. The hand removed itself immediately before Marsha rubbed her wrist and looked to see what had grabbed her. She saw that woman who had drew her name from that shiny bowl. Marsha hated her voice. It was loud, high pitched, and felt like daggers were being clawed through her brain whenever she spoke.

And the woman did speak. And she spoke a lot. Rapidly. And loud. Marsha hated that, and it hurt her. Covering her ears helped a little, but all the woman did was speak louder. She wanted her to stop. She just wanted her to stop talking.

"Sthap." Marsha pleaded with her damaged speech.

"What was that?" The woman asked, not in the least quieter.

"Sthap." Marsha repeated.

"Look girl, if you want something, just say it properly and-"

"I suid, STHAP!" Marsha yelled before she started to cry. She detested it when people didn't understand her. And right now, she really, really wished that the woman could understand her just enough so that she'd stop talking. "Plse. Plse sthap thaking."

"I don't know what you're say, so if you could just take a second to collect yourself and-"

Marsha couldn't handle it anymore. Normally she could handle people being loud and stuff. But the combination of her high pitched voice and the loudness of it was too much for her. Marsha risked the noise, and released her hands from her ears before she slammed her palms into the woman's mouth so hard that the woman lost her footing. Both she and Marsha fell to the floor as Marsha repeated the same broken phrase over and over again.

"Shtut up! Shtut up! Shtut up! Shtut up! Shtut up!"

The Capitol woman struggled, but Marsha was a lot stronger than her. The escort let out muffled screams with scared, wide eyes as she struggled to breathe. The struggle only last a couple seconds, because when the Capitol woman started to shout for help, a couple of peacekeepers ripped Marsha off her and locked her arms behind her back.

"Get her up to her room!" The escort ordered the peacekeepers with her as she caught her breath. "It's past time that she be up there anyway."

* * *

 **Tribute Floor #2**

He hated that woman.

She kept on telling him what to do and how wrong he was for whatever he had done. She thought that she was more superior than him just because she was born and raised in the Capitol while he was raised in a district. She especially thought that she was better than him and could order him around because he was from the district that had been dubbed the Capitol lapdog district. But if the escort thought that she could order him around like a dog, she had another thing coming.

She would find, just like how the prep-team and the stylist found out, that no matter what they say or do, they couldn't control him. They had to strap him down to the operating table to do their modifications on him.

Rubbing a hand across his face, he remembered those bastards scrubbing him so hard that it felt as if they were ribbing his flesh off. And when they shaved his face. Oh, when they shaved his face so close with that razor, he felt that burning sensation for hours after it was done.

They had also clipped and shone his nails as well as shaving the calluses off his hands and feet. They had also ripped out any unwanted hair, which was just about everything except the hair on his head, his eye brows, and pubic hairs. What was he? A prissy woman like Sabrina?

Thor Houghton had let her ranting, raving, and complaining go on as long as it did because he knew that the escort was valuable. But his patience was wearing thin, and he found it harder and harder to not act every minute he was around her.

She babbled on and on about how he should try and act like a proper career, how he shouldn't of fought Thorn and how he should respect the Capitol and his home district by winning the Hunger Games. That he should stop making a fool of himself by sabotaging his chances of gaining support.

Thor felt his anger bubble dangerously inside of him. Unlike the vast majority of his district, he had no love for the games, or the Capitol. The Capitol liked to portray itself as the district saviors and how they were granting them mercy and that the Hunger Games punishment could of been much much worse if they desired. He had heard that one of the Capitol's original plans were to round up people year after year and execute them by firing squads. Instead, they came up with the Hunger Games.

He himself felt that the firing squads would of been a more merciful punishment. Instead, the Capitol wanted to flaunt they're power over the districts and give them some sort of hope. Only so that they could snuff it out almost immediately. And he understood it perfectly.

Hope may be what gives people strength, but it's also what crushes them.

Thor had hope, but he never held on to it, because it always slips away in the end. He found that out. His parents found that out. And soon, the Capitol was going to find out as well.

"So why don't you be a good little boy. Run to your room and think abo-"

Thor couldn't take it anymore. The Capitol had picked him to die, they had broken his arm, which still hurt like a fucking bitch even after they fixed it. The arm, thanks to the Capitol medicine and advanced machinery, had mended his bones back together for the most part, but it would still take a while for it to completely heal. But worst of all, they were always controlling his life. Controlling it then and controlling it now. He didn't want anymore of it. He turned swiftly towards his escort and threw a powerful punch towards her.

Sabrina gave out a horrified shriek as the teenager's fist went through the combination of drywall and cheap wood. Thor ripped his fist out of the wall, sending a cloud of dust and fragments of the wall flying.

"How about you shut your fucking mouth and leave me be." The teen snarled as he pressed his forehead roughly into his escort's. Their eyes were locked into each other and their noses were touching. If either one of them moved inches closer they would of been kissing, but that was the last thing on either of their minds.

Sabrina looked at her male tribute with absolute terror while Thor stared at her like he was feral and going to murder her. "I'll do what I want. You just do your stupid job and get me some damn sponsors to send me stuff in the arena. Are we clear?"

The Capitol woman just shook in terror and didn't respond. She uttered something, but Thor couldn't understand it, even though he was mere inches from her face. "Hey! I asked if we were clear!" Thor then slammed his fist into her kidney, and the woman's legs instantly buckled before she fell to her knees, falling forward until her face was on the floor, beside Thor.

The escort struggled to inhale and exhale as she tried to come to terms with her pain so that she could answer her assaulter. She wasn't doing a very good job of it.

The non-dedicated career might not of been the biggest or the strongest tribute Two had produced, but he still had career training. He had learned how to fight and knew how to fight well. And while nothing special back home, he was greatly more powerful than a Capitol escort.

Thor gave her ten seconds to recover before he grabbed a fist full of her artificially coloured hair and pulled her up to her knees. "Answer my question." He hissed as the adult weakly Pried at his hands. "Are. We. Clear?"

"Cl-" She coughed weakly as she answered just as weakly. "Clee...Ear."

"Good." Thor said with mild satisfaction and released the woman before he bent down and grabbed a fistful of drywall dust. Thor threw the dust at the escort, a thin layer lingered on her clothes as Thor turned and walked away from her. "Grab a drink and chug it." He ordered. "You're drunk and the hole in the wall is because you lost your balance and fell. If you tell a peacekeeper, or anybody else what happened... Well... You can't kill me, but I can end you. After all, you're replaceable."

The teen noticed that a boy a little older than himself was peeking around the corner of one of the rooms. Thor rushed towards the older youth and grabbed him savagely by the neck, yanked him out of the open doorway, and slammed him into the wall. "That goes for you as well. If you try to tell anyone what happened here, I will turn your skull into a goblet and drink out of it. Understood?"

The frightened avox nodded rapidly before Thor let go of him.

Thor brushed the dust off his clothes as he walked to his room, grabbing a bottle of Capitol whiskey and taking a deep pull on the way.

 **A/N: After all this time, I'm back.**

 **News you might care about: Chapters might get longer when we finally get to the arena. I will try to produce good chapters throughout though.**

 **News you might care less about: The links in my profile have been taken down. So if anyone cares to see the non-cannon pictures of the tributes, google search: shades of normality blogspot and click on the link.**

 **News you might not care about: Finished Tomb Raider at last. Epic. Also finished The Walking Dead Season Two video game. Also epic. For those that appreciate a good story and isn't one of those six year olds that play M rated games to kill things and see violence, I would highly recommend seasons one and two. For those that have a PS3 or PS4, I would also highly recommend playing The Last of Us if you haven't already and like a good story. Its like The Walking Dead, but with better game play.**


	11. Training Day 2 Part 1

**Tribute Room #12**

There was a bloodcurdling scream.

He heard a bloodcurdling scream, and even though it was muffled by the walls of his room, he still heard it perfectly. It was high pitched and girly. He also recognized who it came from. Ashton.

Ryan placed his palms to his head before he let it hang with despondency. He knew what it was about. It was about what he had done last night in the hopes of forgiveness. Obviously it hadn't worked, otherwise that reaction from Ashton wouldn't of happened.

The teen let the tears from his eye flow freely before the door to his door had opened with a bang.

"What did you do!" His escort shouted with confusion that was also laced with anger.

"Asked for forgiveness." Ryan cried out. "It obviously didn't work."

"Get out of that room and tell me exactly what-" The escort started, but stopped when she caught sight of Ryan. And when she did, she let out a scream that was much less intense than Ashton's, but no less horrified. A higher pitched and a lot less dignified one at that.

Ryan's face was battered and bleeding. It looked like he had been beaten with a mace. The right side of his face was intensely swollen and his right eye looked like a large, dark plum had formed in its place. His nose was bleeding two thick pythons of blood and thick red was coming out of his mouth. In addition to that, there were lacerations leaking red from his face and lip.

It was a grisly sight, and one that the Capitol woman hadn't expected to see first thing in the morning.

The night before, Ryan had thought of what he had done to his district partner, and at first was infuriated with himself. But that rage quickly turned into extreme sadness mixed with anger. And because of that, the teenager hated himself. He hated how he was feeling and hated his actions. As a result, Ryan had started to beat himself up. With his right hand, which was now bruised, lacerated, and in absolute agony, repeatedly punched himself in the face. Hard.

He wanted to feel the physical pain in an attempt to rid himself of the emotional pain he was feeling. And while it worked as a distraction, it only worked for so long before he started to feel that emotional pain again. So he would continue to hit himself and hate what he had done to Ashton. He also did it for another, bigger reason that was even greater than his need to feel less emotional pain.

It didn't take long before Ryan started to lose his touch on reality and he started to hear voices. Those voices told him that he'd end up alone in the world and that nobody liked him. That nobody loved him. That everybody hated him and that there was nothing he could do to change that. They said all those hurtful things, and more.

He believed them, but didn't want to. The feeling was so strong that he felt as if his entire being was being crushed.

He didn't want to be alone and hated. He wanted forgiveness. So as the voices and feelings tortured him, he grabbed a black marker and went into his district partner's room and started to write on her walls as she slept in her bed. He didn't wake her at the time because he simply hadn't noticed that she was there.

He scribbled the same phrase over and over again until there was no more surface area to write on. The walls that Ryan had repeatedly wrote on said: 'I'm sorry. Please forgive me.'

Now he discovered that it was a stupid idea. A stupid idea that wouldn't work. She wouldn't forgive him. Why would she? Scaring her with all that writing on her walls and the actions of earlier that day. He hated himself for what he had done, and there was no turning back the events, no matter what he wanted.

She appeared at the doorway and stood behind the escort, and the look of shock and confusion on her face confirmed what Ryan had thought. She wasn't going to forgive him.

"What happened to you?" Ashton asked as she looked at her injured district partner with bewilderment.

"Punishment." Ryan sobbed.

 _Why would she forgive me anyway? After what I've done, why would she even think of forgiving me? She'll leave me, just as everyone else has._

And even if he hadn't done that, he figured that she would leave him anyway. After all, they were from two different worlds.

She was from the Merchant area, he was from the Seam. She had everything that the district had to offer, he had the worst the district could offer. She was sane, and he was crazy.

She was an appealing young teenager that had beautiful blonde hair, large but gentle blue eyes, and healthy ivory skin that was free of scars, gashes, burns, and other types of injuries. And though he had heard the comments from the Capitol saying that she was lacking in the assets category, Ryan thought that it suited her.

Meanwhile, he was tall and boney with thick and extremely coarse black hair that was now cut so that it didn't hang over his shoulders and arms. His Seam grey eyes looked harsh even in best of conditions with dark purple rings around them, and his olive skin was nothing special. His yellow and crocked teeth didn't help things as well.

And if there was more to be said about his appearance, it was the injuries that were under his clothes. When the prep-team had unclothed him, they were horrified to see the condition his body was in. The abuse that it had to put up with.

The escort had said to Ryan that he should try to keep up his hygiene and cover up those purple eye sags with make-up, but appearances were one of the last things on his mind.

"Punishment for what?" Ashton asked.

"Punishment for what I've done." Ryan answered. "Hitting you. Yelling at you. Writing on your wall. I'm sure you can name more."

"I can certainly name some-" The escort started, but was stopped by Ashton elbowing her in the side.

"Why do you punish yourself like that?"

"Why do the peacekeepers punish us like they do?" Asked Ryan. "Because that's what they do. Its what I do."

"Well... You shouldn't do that to yourself."

"Because?" Ryan asked.

"Because..." Ashton started. Paused. Then continued. "Because I don't want to see you like that." That response shocked Ryan a little, along with the escort, though to a lesser degree. "Honestly. The Capitol just fixed you up after that encounter with Falco, and here you do... This to yourself. It's worse than what he did."

"I've been hurt worse than what he did to me." Ryan told her.

"I can see that." Ashton said as she walked past her escort and stopped in front of her district partner. "And I think I know why you did what you did. So while I still don't like what you did to me, I will forgive you so long as- AHHH!" Ashton cried out in surprise as Ryan embraced her in a tight hug.

"Thank you." Ryan told her as tears continued to stream down his face, smearing blood and water on Ashton's shirt. The tears weren't from sadness anymore, they were of a different emotion. A better emotion. "Thank you so much."

"What... What are you..." Ashton stuttered in confusion. "It's just forgiving you. It's n... Not like something miraculous happened."

"Something miraculous did happen." Ryan told her.

Ryan liked this feeling. Happiness. Of all the feelings that he felt, it was his second favourite one, and the one that he experienced the second least. After all the rage and sorrow he had felt for a great amount of time, what he now felt was pure bless.

He knew that he wasn't a good person. Never was a good person. He knew that his parents would agree with that statement. He imagined what his mother was feeling after their meeting in the justice building. He had told her that he hated her. That she had left him to die. That she didn't care about him. That she didn't even try to save him.

It wasn't until she had left that his rage had subdued and that he had realized that she was really leaving him. He then tried to tell her that he was sorry, that he didn't really mean any of the things that he had said. But she was long gone by then. The brief slip of reality that came with that didn't help him in the slightest. The laughing, the hurtful words, the delusions that came with it... The only reason Ryan knew that he had lost his touch on reality was because the peacekeeper inside the justice building was wondering who he was talking to when he hadn't let anyone in, only for Ryan to suddenly find that the voices and his thoughts were once again his own.

Having Ashton forgive him was something that really meant something to him. It made him feel a little less empty. A little less like a bad person. But he knew that that wasn't going to change that he was still a horrible person.

Still, Ashton hadn't abandoned him. And at the moment, that was all he cared about.

* * *

 **Capitol Training Room**

Dumb.

If there was such a word to describe what he was feeling, it was that. After a day of learning how to use the combat tools of the trade properly, or at the very least, better, he had forgotten a lot of what he had been told.

The hand to hand combat techniques that had been taught to him had been lost, the way to throw a spear properly, all of those had been lost when he had tried to do them. And when he had tried the survival technique of trying to start a fire, he had been unable to do what he had been able to accomplish the day before.

He didn't feel good about himself, and when Trail Calloway looked to his right, he saw the District Three guy, someone that he thought shouldn't of known about building flames as well as someone from Eleven, easily make a fire from flint and steel, he felt even more stupid.

Trail tried to justify it by saying that Nick had experience with flames because of the burn scars that littered his face, but at the same time, his mind was telling him of other methods that Nick could of gotten burned. A factory accident, or something like that.

And though Trail knew of the condition that he had been diagnosed with, he thought that he should of been able to at least remember how to properly counter someone that had taken hold of him from behind. It was something that was bound to happen to him in the arena, but not to his surprise, he couldn't remember how to do it properly.

And maybe he could of remembered how to build a camouflaged shelter properly if he hadn't concentrated his attention of that curly haired girl from Ten when she screamed and bashed her fists on that trainer. That, and other useless things that caught his attention.

That guy from One that kept on flipping tables and chairs, that guy from Nine who kept on falling asleep only to wake up suddenly when they were practicing traps together, that perfectionist girl from Three. All distractions.

And if the outside stimuli wasn't enough, there were his thoughts that were constantly bombing him from within. Maybe if he paid attention to the trainer instead of thinking about what he was going to do in that situation or that situation then he felt he would of learned better.

It was just like back home. He would get distracted with anything and everything that caught his attention, which was just about anything. A sound. An interesting sight. A thought. It caused him to work slowly, if he managed to work at all.

In fact, the only reason he still had work back in Eleven was because of his father. His father was there to guide him, to get him out of his own world, to help him keep on track.

He found if funny that he preferred working in the fields than going to school, when others would prefer the opposite. But school was too hard for him. He would end up forgetting assignments that he had finished, if he had remembered to do them in the first place. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on what the teacher was saying, finding the bird that flew by the window caught his attention more, even if he was trying really had to learn. And when the other kids talked, he couldn't even begin to work on his own work.

Eventually he had lost so much school supplies that he had decided to quit school at the age of fourteen, which wasn't that unusual. After all, kids had quit at an earlier age than him, if they went at all. And besides that, he had lasted longer than his teachers had expected him to.

Trail sighed as he thought of how much strain he was putting on his family by forgetting anything and everything that was important and how he wished he could be better for them. _Maybe if I wasn't such a dumbass I could actually make my parents proud._ He thought as he suddenly remembered that he was in the middle of trying to make a camouflaged shelter that was going badly.

He stared at his haphazardly made shelter that looked like it was falling apart. Trail looked at the mixture of wood, moss, and leaves before he picked up another stick to try and make it not so unbalanced. Trail placed the stick under a section of the shelter before the entire structure collapsed.

"Ha!" A voice cried out. "Fucking dumbass!"

Trail recognized that voice. It belonged to Thor Houghton, the guy from District Two.

Trail had seen him practicing on the traps, camouflage, and weapons, when he wasn't harassing everyone that is. And it wasn't just his fellow tributes that he was harassing, it was the adults as well. Just like he had seen when he had first came down to the Capitol training room, he had picked a fight with the head instructor, and while he hadn't fought anyone else in that time, he also seemed to want to have a fight.

 _Just ignore him._ Trail told himself. _Don't bother with him. It's what he wants._

Trail gathered up the items needed for his shelter to try again. He started to try and build his shelter again, but the words of Thor Houghton broke through his concentration. Soon, all he could concentrate on was Thor Houghton's insults. He couldn't hear anything else. He couldn't focus on anything else. He couldn't even think about anything else. He had became hyper focused on the antagonist that was bothering him. "I thought Eleven's were supposed to be good at building shit shelters! I guess you're an exception because your brain's fucked!"

Trail's hands began to shake as he tried to get his attention on something else. Unfortunately, he was hooked and the line was not releasing. "Maybe you should invest in learning how to use a knife properly! Save us the trouble to having to kill you again after your botched up suicide!"

 _Ignore him!_ Trail told himself. _Just try and focus on the-_ "But I guess that might be too much trouble for even you! I mean, animals know how to at least kill! But I guess your just a devolved, retarded, waste of space, black monkey from Eleven!"

Trail couldn't take it anymore. All those insults had added up, and while he wasn't a violent person, he had had a temper. He had learned to control it, but that didn't mean that he still didn't have a problem from time to time. And one of those times was now.

"And what about you!" He yelled back, turning towards Thor, who was casually leaning against the wall next to the survival station. "You Capitol lapdog! Why you so pissed? Didn't get your daily quota of Capitol semen in your mouth? Or did you not get fucked in the ass hard enough?"

Thor's face turned from a toothy smile to more than a little sour at Trail's response. Still, Thor didn't advance any closer to the boy, but Trail was planning to do that wether or not Thor did it first or not.

"I'm going to let those slide because, and only because I have a proposal for you, baldy." The boy from the lapdog district replied with a sneer. "You can't survive in the arena the way you are. So do the first smart thing you'll ever do in your short days here. Join me. Work with me in the arena."

"And why would I ever want to do that?" Trail asked as he glared back at Thor. "If I remember right, you started the first fight here."

"And that should show you that I'm not afraid to get down and dirty. And besides, would you rather have me on your side, or some skinny bitch like Anna or a pussy like Carver?"

And just like that, Thor was shoved to the ground from behind. Trail looked at the scene in surprise as his hyper focus broke and he could hear what was going on in the world around him again. What interested him the most though was that Carver was the one holding a downed Thor on the floor and tying his limbs together with rope. Thor fought back, but even with his sturdy five foot eight frame, he was no match for a man that was bigger than him in every physical way.

Before Trail knew it, the District Two guy had his hands tied behind his back, his legs were tied together, and he was flopping around like an overly large, overturned beetle.

"A Pussy am I?" Carver growled at the tied up boy below him. "Last time we meet, I remember leaving you stuffed inside a garbage can." Carver then picked the boy from Two up with his burly arms and stuffed him ass first into a tall, metal, cylinder tin can. He did it in such a way that Thor's hands were inside the garbage can below his butt, making it impossible for him to free his arms. "See you get out of that."

"Oh I see!" Thor raged at him, violently wiggling around inside the trash bin. "Running away again! Coward!"

"You all right there buddy?" Carver asked the smaller boy, ignoring the teenager in the trash can.

"Yeah." Trail answered, looking at Thor more than his rescuer. "Thanks, I didn't want to be kicked out for fighting. So, yeah. Thanks."

"No problem." Carver told him, though Trail was still concentrating on Thor's ranting more than what Carver was saying. "He tried to recruit me too. Said that we'd make a great team. But I wasn't going to join him. He's nothing more than a common thug. A common District Two thug that's looking for a fight."

"Yeah. Cool cool." Trail boredly told Carver, not caring much for the conversation anymore. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to trying to learn how to survive."

"Sure. Fine with me." Carver then tipped over the trash can, much to the fury of Thor, before turning back to Trail. "If you want, you can partner up with me."

Trail looked at Carver, and while Carver was the biggest person he had ever seen and looked like he could crush the skulls of nearly half the participating tributes, there was just something about him that Trail didn't like. Maybe it was the constant stink of alcohol that was around him. Maybe it was his slowed speech, like he was permanently intoxicated. Maybe it was the way Carver couldn't handle bright lights and loud noises and looked tired all the time.

The District Seven boy would of been the best choice for a teammate. Strong, more than likely able to handle an axe, and if nothing else, probably loaded with sponsors because of his physical structure alone. Though Carver probably wouldn't be winning the hearts of any girls because of the better looking tributes this year.

But as Trail's mind raced with ideas, he thought of what made everyone in this room special.

Disorders. He knew what his disorder was, but he didn't know Carver's. What was it? Some kind of alcoholic disorder? Maybe he was depressed and would kill himself in the arena the first chance he got.

Trail suddenly forgot what he was thinking about and just looked at Carver.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

Irritated.

If there was a word to describe just how he was feeling at the moment, it was irritated. Irritated and maybe a little bit angry with a mixture of pain. It didn't help that someone was yelling at him while experiencing a wicked hangover. Not that he regretted anything of course, you have to do what you have to do in order to function. Or, at least function better than without the alcohol induced nights. Still being hypersensitive to lights and sound wasn't pleasant, and his captive was pushing the limits of his headache.

"He doesn't want to join you," Thor continued to say as Carver rolled the trash can away from the training stations. Carver looked around at the reactions that the other tributes were giving him. Or at least, the tributes that actually decided to show up.

Neither of the District One tributes had shown up, and neither of the District Six tributes bothered to show up either. Thor's district partner was nowhere in sight either. And that tiny tribute from Eight hadn't shown up either.

And even if some were here, it didn't mean that they were training. That girl from Three was arranging the tables and chairs so that they were just so, that man faced girl from Nine was sitting at her table observing everyone quietly, his district partner laying on her back. They weren't the most productive of tributes, and he was thinking that as Thor continued to lay out for him. "You want to know why? Because he can see you for what you really are. A god damn coward who thinks that everyone should be afraid of him because of your size."

Carver didn't want everyone to be afraid of him, just the people that needed to be. It went a long way when they were intimidated by your size. It made people freeze up, it gave you those extra seconds of action as they took in just what they had gotten themselves into. And most of the time, that was enough. It made people think twice about what their malevolent decisions towards him.

Back home, nobody dared mess with his family because of him. If anyone gave his brother or sister a hard time, they had wished that they hadn't. Even when he was younger nobody really bothered him because of his size. He had always been the biggest kid in his class. It didn't take long before he was as tall as some of the adults. By the time he was fifteen he was already matching the height of even the tallest grown ups in District Seven.

And if appearances were anything to go by, he had started to look like an adult by the time he entered his teen years. His facial features became less soft and round and instead became developed and sharp. His facial hair grew rapidly and his eyebrows were thick and bushy. And his body developed as rapidly as his height. It made it awkward at first, looking older than he really was, but he learned to like it. Even now he looked like he should be in his early, or maybe even mid-twenties. Unlike the other tributes, there wasn't a hint of child like appearance on him.

It made it easy to solve problems. It also helped that the district thrived on hard physical labour, making him not only tall, but muscular.

He was grateful for all that, and more. It would definitely go a long way. But Thor didn't seem to be acting like he should, and that confused Carver. It also pissed him off for some reason. "But I'm not afraid of you. In the arena, what are you going to do? Subdue someone? Leave all the hard work to someone that can get shit done? You may think you're the big bad fucking wolf, but all you are is a sheep. A big sheep, but a sheep neither the less."

Carver stopped rolling Thor when he reached his destination.

"You done?" He asked trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. He could of easily beaten the tar out of Thor, but he didn't see the point. Thor was just an asshole that talked too much. He had seen people like that back in Seven, and the only thing that made Thor different from them was that he was braver. Braver and had a mental disorder.

"What's wrong sheep?" Thor asked with a wicked smile, like he had discovered something that he really hadn't. "Can't handle the truth? Did I shatter that arrogant image you had of yourself?"

Carver shook his head and looked down at Thor in pity.

"The only one who's arrogant here is you. And if we ever meet in the arena, I show you who's the wolf and who's really the sheep."

"I highly doubt th-" Thor started, only for Carver to kick the metal cylinder he was trapped, causing it to roll into a storage closet. Before he could even shout at Carver, Carver slammed the door shut and walked away from the foul mouthed boy from Two.

 _Call me a sheep will he?_ Carver thought bitterly to himself, thinking of his reputation back in Seven. The reputation he had earned. _He doesn't know a god damn thing._

* * *

You should keep your strength up.

That was the advice that his mentor had given him, but he dismissed his words of wisdom and substituted them for what he knew best.

He was going to keep his strength up, but not in the way that his mentors wanted him to. No, he wasn't going to go down that route. They didn't know what was best for him, he knew what was best for him. So he was going to keep his strength up, but in a different way. And the way he was thinking about was going around with Anna. She kept herself busy, and with that, she kept him busy as well.

She was in constant motion, and Spark liked that. It got him to move and exercise with her, even if his district partner walked around in giant circles wondering what to do next. He didn't care what they did next as long as they were in motion, and it kept him distracted from darker thoughts. What his mentors had suggested to him didn't do him any good either.

 _Why is everyone telling me to eat something?My parents. My friends. And now the adults in the Capitol. What do they want?_ He asked himself. _I eat, okay? The amount that I eat isn't unhealthy, it's just right. Sure I get hungry and go over board sometimes, but I always make up for it. And besides, I drink plenty of water._

Walking from the hand to hand combat station that Anna had gotten semi-bored from, along with getting a little angry at the trainer for trying to teach her something, Spark looked at his fellow tributes. All of them different sizes.

He spotted that District Four girl, unsurprisingly, at the rope section. And there was that Carver giant at the spear throwing section. Spark thought of how different he was from each and every tribute in the Capitol training room. _I may not be a career, or any where near a Carver, but at least I ain't like those District Twelve skeletons._

Spark looked at himself up and down, and the shirt that seemed to be a little bit too small for him just screamed at him to burn more of that fat off his body. Spark would of happily complied, but he was tired, his vision was waving left and right unexpectedly, and it was almost lunch time, and the trainers would be off for their break.

Still, with Anna close to his side, he was never resting for long. He was glad that Anna had as much energy as she had, and Anna was glad that she had someone that could keep up with her.

He wondered if Anna had the same kind of problem that he had. But he didn't think so, she didn't have the signs that he had, so thought that she might some other kind of condition. One where she could never relax. Nervousness? Spark didn't know, but while he knew that she was probably suffering because of it, he was glad that she had it.

"I can't belive that jerk told me to do that!" Anna screamed for the entire training center to hear. Spark instantly regretted thinking that he was glad for Anna's condition when kids and adults alike turned to look at her. And in a way, him. "Who does she think she is? Who? Who? That advice she gave me? Does she think I want to be a salad bowl head like her?"

Spark swallowed a lump in his throat that had suddenly appeared before turning around to see how the trainer was taking Anna's ranting. She didn't look mad, but she didn't look very pleased either. Spark didn't know wether to be worried or not.

Anna growled loudly as she grabbed a handful of her hair and swung her hand forward until it was in front of her face. "If she thinks that it's a good-" Anna stopped in the middle of her sentence as she stared at her hair before turning to Spark. "You know what," She said with a surprisingly calm voice. One that was a total contrast to the one she had been using just second earlier. Spark didn't know wither to be confused or happy that Anna's mood changed so quickly. "That is a good idea."

On their way past the knife station, the ever moving girl grabbed a survival knife and handed it to her district partner. "Cut my hair." Anna demanded as Spark took the knife in mild shock.

"Uh... What?" Spark asked as he looked back and forth between Anna and the knife.

"Cut my hair," Anna repeated. "It's not a bad idea. After all, she did show me what could happen if I keep it long in the arena."

As they walked to a table, Spark couldn't help but gawk at the older girl. Or most specifically, her hair. _She has such beautiful hair._ The boy thought as his district partner's hair swished back and forth across her back.

It was a good length, and the length of it seemed to really suit her. It wasn't overly long, but it wasn't short either. Not only that, but it looked so soft and full of life. Spark ran his hand gently through his hair and felt nothing but rough material. He hated his hair.

The next thing the teen knew, he felt something pointy hit him in the thigh. Spark let out a yelp as he was brought back to his senses and saw that Anna was sitting in one of the metal chairs, waiting impatiently for him to start trying to cut her hair.

Spark looked at the scissors before looking at Anna again.

"You su-"

"I asked you for this didn't I?" She told him as she twiddled her fingers together. "Cut it. Cut it short. But not so short that I look like a boy. And don't cut it so that it looks like salad bowl over there." She said as she pointed to the hand to hand combat trainer. Noting that Anna didn't want any part of her hair to be perfectly straight cut all around, he thought of the length. Not too short, but still not too long.

"But you've go-" Spark started, but Anna interjected once again.

"Look, will you just cut it and get it over with?" She said, her impatience clear in her voice. "It's not like I'm losing all my hair, right?" For some reason, that hurt Spark more than it should, but he quickly swallowed it and let it linger somewhere less noticeable.

 _Such beautiful hair though._ Spark thought as he gently took a fist full of hair and adjusted the length of which to cut _. It's a real shame._

Spark then picked the length, something not too short, but not too long either, and began sawing the hair. He quickly found that cutting hair with a knife was a lot harder than he originally thought. He found that Anna quickly discovered that as well. "Ow." She said as he tugged at her hair as he tried to cut it as quickly but smoothly as possible. "Don't pull so much."

"Trying." Spark grunted.

"It can't be that hard." Anna told him. "Ahh. It's just hair."

 _You're telling me._ Spark thought as he cut through the thin, but surprisingly tough stuff. "Fuck. Ow."

"Sorry." Spark apologized, trying to be as gentle as possible while still applying enough force to cut through.

It was hard work, but Spark managed to cut off a chunk of hair. The second one was equally as difficult. He was wondering why Anna couldn't of just waited to ask their escort for a hair cut when he felt his wrist being crushed and pulled.

Spark squawked when he came face to face with a very pissed off looking head trainer Thorn. Spark felt his body get weak, and he would of fallen over in both terror and surprise if the large man wasn't holding onto his arm and pulling him so hard that he was face to face with him.

"What do you think you're doing?" He growled. All Spark could do was stare stupidly at the head trainer. It seemed to piss him off even more. "I asked-"

"He's cutting my hair for your information." Anna said, looking at Thorn with a glare. "Why? Something wrong with that?"

Spark didn't know wether to praise the girl for being brave, or to be scared for her for being stupid. The last time she had talked back to Thorn had resulted in casualties. Spark was not looking to become one of those, nor did he want Anna to be one again.

"Yes." Thorn said before he shoved Spark into the arms of another peacekeeper. The younger peacekeeper grabbed the middle aged teenager and held him in an iron grip. Spark didn't put up a fight as he knew it wouldn't end anywhere good. He thought of how Thorn had snapped Thor's arm and it made him shudder. "I told you there'd be no fucking around. Playing around with knifes, that's unacceptable."

"We're not playing around with it." Anna told him, trying to justify the action. "We're using it."

"Fucking around with it more like it." Thorn growled at her before he pulled out a pair of scissors from his chest pocket before three peacekeepers grabbed Anna and shoved her to the floor.

"What are you-" Anna started, but then the sound of hair being snipped off caused her to stop.

"You want a fucking hair cut. You're going to get one."

Spark then watched in horror as Thorn savagely cut Anna's hair. It was unskilled, it was crude, and it was close to the scalp. Thorn didn't seem to care where he was cutting as long as the hair was getting short. Anna begged him to stop as tears started to form in her eyes, but Thorn didn't stop, and her struggling did nothing to get the three other peacekeepers off of her.

She moved and shouted with all her might, but nothing got the sadistic peacekeeper to stop, or even slow down. At times it looked like the twin blades were going to slice through the girl's scalp, but always managed to miss. Spark didn't fight, but he felt guilt that he wasn't trying to help Anna. She was fighting against four grown men, and here he was, watching this horrific scene in front of him without so much as pushing against a single peacekeeper.

So he did what he thought was best. He closed his eyes and looked away. But hearing her screams of mercy and the sound of hair being sliced wasn't much better. If anything, his imagination made it worse.

When the snipping had stopped, Spark dared to look at his district partner. It was quite a sight, as her hair was ragged and looked awful. In some areas she was almost completely shaved, in other places her hair was still slightly long. Spark was horrified. "There's your fucking haircut." Thorn snarled as he pocketed the scissors and snapped his fingers, telling the peacekeepers to free the District Five tributes.

Anna immediately looked at her haphazardly thrown hair that was laying on the floor, not even looking at Thorn and his posse as they walked away. "You see that tribute Ingram? Tribute Salvador? Tribute Boykin? Step out of line, and some form of punishment will happen to you."

Spark didn't really care about the other tributes, the sight of Anna was more than enough to keep him occupied.

"My hair..." Anna cried as she picked up chunks of her separated hair. Tears hitting the floor.

"Anna..." Spark said to her with worry. He didn't get any farther, because Anna got to her feet and started to run away towards the elevators. "Anna!" Spark shouted, going after his district partner. "Anna!"

 **A/N: Been a while, am I right? Sorry for the long wait. My computer was being a jerk, unexpectedly resetting before I could save my writing, so because I was frustrated with it, I didn't write for about a week.**

 **Anyway, I'm not the best at giving hints about people. Me personally, I'd just like to tell you who they are and why they're like that. But that's not how stories work, so bare with me for a bit.**

 **Also, enjoy.**


	12. Training Day 2 Part 2

**Tribute Room #5**

If one were to see Anna Leptick on the outside they would of said that she was in shock.

That's what her escort thought as Anna bolted out of the elevator in distress. Crying her eyes out while rapidly talking to herself in a fit of misery. The teenage girl kept on running her hand across her near bald scalp as she looked at herself in any reflective object she could find.

On the inside however, Anna felt much more than just simple shock. She felt traumatized. And with each second of seeing what had happened to herself, she felt as if she was getting closer and closer to becoming desolation.

Anna kept on trying to deny what had just happened to her, but every time she saw her reflection, she saw what she had feared. Her hair had been cut to near nothingness.

She saw it. She felt it. She knew it. And telling herself that it wasn't real, that it was just a nightmare, wasn't going to make the fact that she had just lost nearly all her hair go away.

Memories of a time long ago popped up in her mind. A memory that was one of her fondest, even if it had a couple of cringe moments in it. It was of a little girl running around her mother as she pretended she was flying. Her arms parallel to her shoulders and straight as she made whooshing sounds.

 _It got the attention of the crowd, and as her mother tried to get her to behave, the daughter kept on doing what she wanted to do, and that was pretending to be a machine that could fly in the air._

 _The young girl kept on bumping into people, and while she said sorry before continuing onto her activity, the people around her gave her a glare. She didn't notice, she was too busy in her own world to notice._

 _That is, until something caught her eye._

 _She stopped pretending to fly before she ran towards the object of attraction._

 _She stopped just short of what was the interesting object that twisted, turned, and knotted together. It was long, it was strange, it was black, and to her, it was amazing. She couldn't figure out what it was, but it looked like something you'd attach to a lamp or something. A kind of chained switch. She wondered if that was why it was on some kind of pole._

 _The little girl grabbed the roped object and not so gently pulled on it, causing the stand that it was attached to to give out a loud squawk. The girl was startled by the sound and gave out a scream as well._

 _"Ahh! A monster attached to a rope!" Anna screamed as the object that was attached to the rope turned around to face her._

 _"I'm not a monster!" A young girl's voice told her with a little bit of hurt. Both from the tug Anna had given her and the words that had been sent her way. "And that was my hair you pulled!"_

 _"That rope's your hair?" Anna asked in surprise and fascination. She then saw that she had indeed pulled someone's hair. The girl was a little taller than herself with skin like dark coffee that went well with her even darker hair. "Cool!"_

 _"What are you doing with my daughter?" A deep, growling voice asked. It scared Anna, but she looked past the girl to see a tall, dark skinned man giving her a menacing look. Before Anna could even think, she said the first thing that came to her mind._

 _"Ahh! Where'd you come from?"_

 _"Anna!" Her mother's voice sounded out from behind her. "What did you do to that girl?"_

 _"Nothing!"Anna replied. "I just saw this thing that looked like a rope. Turns out it was her hair. And I thought that it was neat looking, so I grabbed it."_

 _"You what?" Both adults asked in shock._

 _"I grabbed it." Anna repeated as she did dramatic hand gestures. "And then she screamed and I screamed and then I realized that she wasn't a post but I thought she was a monster and-"_

 _"I think we get it sweetie." Her mother told her, but Anna didn't stop._

 _"Then I saw that she wasn't and she was actually a girl, and then you guys showed up and wondered what happened and now here we are. With me talking about it."_

 _"Riiiight." The father drawled wondering which emotion he should have._

 _"It's true." Anna told him. "No need to be rude about it."_

 _"I'm so sorry." Anna's mom told the other girl's father. "She does things without-"_

 _"I like your hair." Anna declared to the other little girl. "Let's be friends so that you can show me how to tie knots in it."_

 _"It's called a braid An-"_

 _"Cool! Show me how to do it." Anna said as she played with the girl's braid, ignoring a thing called personal space._

 _"Anna. What did I say about-"_

 _"Touching people." Anna interrupted with a bored voice. "I know, I know." She touched the girl's braid a couple more times anyway._

 _"I wish I had your hair though." The girl told Anna. "It's-"_

 _"Amazing?" Anna asked. "I know. Mom tells me that as well. My hair is really smooth and stuff while her's is dry and fading and turning grey or something."_

 _There was a suppressed chuckle from the older man before Anna heard her mom say that it was time for them to leave._

 _"Don't want to waste anymore of their time do-"_

 _"Come with us!" Anna said with inappropriate volume. "We'll have fun buying..." She looked to her mom. "What are we buying again?"_

 _"Supplies for school." The mother sighed._

 _"Yeah. That."_

 _"We're actually done." The older man told them, holding up a bag of supplies. "But I'm sure you'll see my daughter at-"_

 _"What's her name?" Anna asked._

 _"Vida." The girl answered._

 _"I'm Anna. Anna Leptick." She heard the father chuckle, and Anna didn't get it. In fact, when she said her name, people tended to laugh for some reason. She wondered why. She had asked her mom, but she said that she'd explain it later. Only later never came. "What's so funny?"_

 _"Nothing." The father said as he and his daughter walked away from them._

 _Anna looked to her mom and stated._

 _"I don't get it."_

Present day Anna looked back at that memory with fondness, but when she returned to the present, she was once again devastated by what had happened to her.

Her hair was one of the reasons that she had became friends with her best friend, and it was one of the things that she prided herself with. Her hair was part of her identity. It was a part of her. And just like the button up boy shirts that she wore back in District Five, she felt as if it was one of the things that made her who she was.

Now she was haunted by the fact that she now looked more like a peacekeeper than anything else.

The Capitol forbid her from wearing her reaping outfit or anything else down to the training center other than the standard training uniform. They wanted her to look like everyone else.

And that's what made her hate it so much more. Peacekeepers wear a standard uniform and shave their heads so that they all look the same. Put on full faced helmets or masks and they all look even more like the same person.

Conceal the colour of their skin and eyes, make their gender difference disappear, place them all in matching clothes and give them a full faced helmet or mask, and what you have are people who all look the same. An army of clones.

 _Is this what they want?_ Anna asked herself as she cut up some white powder with a razor. _To show that we're outsiders because we have mental disabilities? Do they want us to all look the same so that people won't distinguish one from the other? So that they won't care about us as much?_

Anna knew that it was illogical, but her mind needed something to be fixed on. And with her racing thoughts, she kept on thinking of new ideas. One that always came back to her was that their head trainer was an asshole that liked to torture people for the hell of it.

"Mrs. Leptick !" Her escort shouted from behind a locked door. "Please calm down and come out of my room!"

 _Yeah. This'll calm me down all right._ Anna said to herself as she created a line of white powder on the glass table. She wanted it. She wanted it so bad.

Anna then pressed her right nostril at one end of the powdered line and plugged her left nostril with her finger before she inhaled the substance.

Anna finished her line before she sniffed again to get the rest of the powder into her system.

Exhaling harshly, Anna scrapped the remaining substances into the small bag that it had originally came from. _I'm taking this. After all, I need this way more than her._

As the white powder was scrapped into the bag, Anna started to feel it's potent effects, and it made her feel at ease.

Anna then stuffed the bag of powder into her pocket and wiped her eyes with her arm before she unlocked the door and came face to face with her escort.

"What were you doing in there?" She asked with narrowed eyes. Glaring at her like she had done something wrong and was trying to get her to spill her secrets.

"Nothing." Anna told her calmly before an itch occurred in her right nostril. Anna sniffed loudly before she walked past the escort.

"I don't believe you." She stated. "Tell me. What were you doing in my room."

"Nothing of importance. Thought it was my room in my fit. Sorry."

The escort continued to hammer questions in her direction, but Anna continued to walk away. The escort, wanting to see if Anna had made a mess of her room, decided to not follow her. Unfortunately for Anna, someone else decided to follow her instead.

"Anna!" They shouted.

Anna looked to her side and saw her district partner, Spark Gamble. "Are you okay?"

"Let me think." Anna sarcastically spoke. "I lost my hair, made myself look like an idiot, got humiliated by Thorn and myself, and possible made myself look weak in front of everyone and probably lost some sponsors. I'm perfectly fine, thanks for asking."

"I'm sorry for asking." Spark sighed as his eyes cast away from his district partner.

It was Anna's turn to sigh. But she didn't say anything after. "I got your hair if you want it." He told her as he held up a paper bag in front of her. Anna looked at the bag, pressed her teeth together, and narrowed her eyes as she faced her district partner.

"Why would I want that?" She harshly asked. "What am I going to do? Glue it back onto my head?"

"I just thought that-"

"Just thought what?" Anna snarled, getting her face close to his. "Taunt me by holding up that bag in front of me like you want to say 'here's what you had before but now you don't'?"

"It's not the end of the world." Spark told her, but Anna's feelings of anger only intensified.

"Not the end of the world?" She screamed, causing Spark to back off, only for Anna to step forward. "Not the end of the world? I'm a bald woman! Nobody likes a bald woman! They'll think I'm ugly! They'll think that I'm a crybaby! Nobody will look at me the same again! I can think twice about getting back home!" Anna then cast her eyes down in sorrow as a thought came to her. "She'll think I'm ugly."

Anna knew that she wasn't a good looking girl. She wasn't ugly, but she wasn't what people would say was attractive. There were permanent scab marks on her face where she had scratched pimples off, semi-shallow cheeks with low cheek bones, and fairly wide but scrawny shoulders. And while she had heard other girls say that they'd of liked long eyes lashes, Anna thought that her long eye lashes made her eyes look weird.

"What?" Spark asked with surprise as he tried to cover up as much of his fear as possible.

"You're a boy." Anna then declared as she looked back up at Spark with intense eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

It was then that Anna's eyes seemed to soften a little before she sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Spark. I... I shouldn't be mad at you. All you did was do as you were told. I'm the one that... You know. Made this mess." _Like so many other messes I've made before._

"It's okay, Anna." Spark told her as he raised his hand, but stopped, like he was unsure wither to touch her or not. Decided not to, and lowered his hand. "It must of been... Hard on you."

"Yeah." She sighed again. "It was. Still is." She said as she rubbed her uneven hair. She hated that feeling.

"And believe it or not, I do understand."

Spark then lifted his hand to his head, then stopped. Anna looked at him in confusion. She looked at Spark's face, and saw a dilemma on his face. Spark then decided to go with one of the options. "Please don't laugh." He said before he pulled at a section of his hair, only for it to come off completely.

Anna gasped at what she saw. There was a small bald spot on Spark's head. And it wasn't bald like shaved short, it was bald bald. Spark then pulled off four more small sections of hair from his head, and showed Anna a head of mismatched bald spots. Spark looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Spark..." Was all that Anna could say before silence overcame them.

"It's a side effect of my disorder." He explained in a voice that sounded younger, weaker, and more sorrowful than normal. "It started to get dry and brittle before..."

He didn't need to finish. Anna knew what he was talking about. And because Anna wasn't the type of person that knew what to do a lot of the times, even when she was calm, she just placed both hands on Spark's shoulders and told him.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Spark said as tears started to leak from his face. "Yeah." Anna could see that it was hard on him, and she didn't say anything else or do anything else. She let go as Spark started to wipe his tears with his sleeves.

Spark himself was someone that Anna would think would of attracted girls. He looked strong, but not overly so. He was tanned and had blue eyes that were as clear as water. But not counting his hair loss areas, he did look unhealthy, like he was pushing his body past its limits. A face that was a little bony with a tight jaw line and sunken in eye sockets. "Hey, Anna."

"Yeah?"

"Why are you so calm now?"

Anna smiled.

"Two reasons. And I'm only going to tell you one. First is because I was actively getting ready for the games. And the second one, you don't really want to know. I might tell you later though."

* * *

 **Tribute Room #1**

Nothing.

If there was anything that she really wanted to do, it was nothing. Well... Almost nothing. There were some other things that she wanted to do, but sleep was on the top of her list. Unfortunately, sleep wasn't cooperating with her, as she had spent more time sleeping than should of been allowed, and she was paying for that.

Her sleep cycle was out of control, and she didn't know when she would be able to rest again. Sometimes she'd stay up all night, sometimes all day, sometimes it was a mixture of the two. But it didn't matter to her, she felt tired all the time and would of liked to sleep if her body and mind could allow her.

She didn't like listening to her escort insisting that she get out and try to mingle with the other kids, or try to learn something for the arena. Or to eat or something. She wished that that Capitol woman would mind her own business.

She didn't like her district partner with his annoying, gleeful attitude and high energy. He was up all day, up all night, and was continuously doing something. She wished that he wasn't so like that.

She didn't like the thoughts and feelings that she was experiencing. She wished that they'd just go away and be replaced with something better, or be gone all together.

But most of all, she absolutely despised what she was hearing and seeing.

As Radiance Dricer smoked her cigarette and cried, she continued to be harassed by people she that seemed to have nothing but contempt for her.

There was a man. He wore a fancy suit and had jet black hair. He sat beside her. He was so close to her. His voice was deep, unrelenting and borderline demonic.

There was a girl. She was slowly pacing the room in front of the teen. With a simple blue sun dress and shimmering blonde hair, she assaulted the younger girl with a voice that was almost apathetic.

They glared at her with hatred as they told her the hatred that they had for her. The poisonous opinions that they had of her and the world around her.

 _ **Why are you crying? You think that anyone wants to hear you crying? Nobody cares what you're feeling.**_

Radiance continued to let her eyes leak as she sat on the edge of the Capitol bed and inhale toxic chemicals. As she wrapped the cocoon of a blanket around herself some more, she continued to listen to the man sitting beside her, letting him tell her hurtful negatives as his partner walked around the room giving her rude comments as well.

 _ **Think that that cigarettes' going to help any? Stupid girl. Why don't you burn yourself with that cigarette? You know you want to.**_

 _Look here. She has a picture of her family._

 _ **Not like they're going to miss her when she's gone.**_

Radiance didn't need them to tell her what she already knew. Even though she had brought a picture of her family as a token, she almost wished that she hadn't. It wasn't like they were going to miss her when she died. If anything, she could hear her parents say how glad they were that she was now gone. A burden on the family, gone. It would make their lives better.

After all, she was-

 _ **Worthless. You're worthless girl.**_

 _You're nothing. I know it. They know it. You should know it as well._

 _ **Your parents have a sense of humor, naming you Radiance. Should of called you Dull.**_

 _Dull and Shameful._

The unkempt girl exhaled the toxic vapors from her mouth as their words attacked her heart.

She could remember better days. She could barley remember them, but she still remembered them. She had had friends, but then when her symptoms came, and they slowly, but surly, left her. One friend stuck around, but she was questioning why he stayed with her.

And then there was a time where she started to get better, and she began to make new friends. But then the announcement for the quarter quell came, and when her medicine was taken away from her, things went full circle.

 _ **Bothersome to your friends. Bothersome to your family.**_

 _Nobody wants to be around you._

 _ **Annoying. That's what you are. An annoyment.**_

Still, there was still one friend in her life, but she was yet again questioning why he stuck around with her after everyone else left. She would like to think that he was sticking with her because they were friends and that they shared something. But there were times where she thought that-

 _He's using you._

 _ **He doesn't like you. He only wants what you can offer him. And don't even think that it's your body.**_

 _You're ugly. Grotesque._

 _ **Have a face that not even a mother could love. So keep on smoking. Not like you could look any worse.**_

The teenage girl didn't think that she was good looking, not like the other District One girls. She had a darker, less shiny shade of blonde hair but had the same emerald green eyes as most of the other girls. But her eyes were dreary, and it make them look less bright and green than they should of been with dark sags around them. And there was the fact that she was thinner than was expected of her.

Her prep-team and stylist had brushed her hair until it had become straight again, but not it was yet again messy and tangled. Her escort was disappointed in her, but that was no surprise to her. She had overheard her escort wondering to herself if she was actually from District One, or if she was from a non-career district.

Radiance had been advised to take care of herself. Eat and shower and stuff like that. At the very least, she had been advised to brush her hair, but she didn't feel like doing it. She felt no motivation to do any of those things.

Rapid knocking came from her door. She didn't even say anything before the door opened, not that it would of changed anything if she had said anything anyway. Her district partner, Splendor Blackwell did what he wanted, when he wanted, and nothing could change the fact.

Radiance felt suppressed emotions rise within her as she looked at Splendor. That outgoing, cocky, annoying, happy, stupid district partner of hers with his crooked smile and energetic attitude.

 _There he is. The boy that's stealing your joy._

"Hey, Radiance, how's it going? Not good? Okay. Well I have something that will hopefully make you feel at least the tiniest bit better so that you ain't mopping around in your room all the time and stuff. So yeah, let's get this thing started, just let me find my stuff." Splendor then started to look around in the pockets of his training outfit. Something that he hadn't changed out of since they had since been put on.

 _ **Taking your abilities. Making them his own.**_

Radiance glared at Splendor as he continued to search and talk. "Come on come on come on. I know they're here somewhere. Let's see. Paper paper..." The boy with wild hair then started to swiftly pat himself, looking for those papers he was talking about as he loudly muttered to himself.

 _ **What could he want with you? Those papers he's looking for, they're the insults he wants to say to you.**_

 _He hates you._

 _ **Loathes you.**_

 _Wants you dead._

"What do you-" The girl asked, but was interrupted by her district partner.

"Hold on. You'll find out soon enough if I can only find those blasted papers. Trust me, you'll love them. I'm sure you'll love them. I mean, you girls like poems and stuff right? Poems. They can have hidden messages in them, even if the writer didn't intend for them to have them. They can also be interpreted different ways. I guess that's why people like writing and reading them. I think you'll find that the ones I'm going to read are quite-"

 _ **Insulting.**_

"What did you say?" Radiance asked upon hearing that.

"I'm sure you'll-"

 _ **Want to die.**_

Radiance really couldn't stand it anymore. She didn't want to hear Splendor's bullshit poems that he had written. They could be interpreted different ways, and there could be a hidden message in them. Maybe he wanted to make her sadder than she already really was. She really didn't see how that would be possible though. After all, all she could see was a bleak future of nothingness.

She saw nothing in her future, and she felt horrible. She felt like she was in Hell. And how dare the boy in front of her with his stupid smile think that he could cheer her up with some words that he thought of.

Double meaning. You say one thing but mean another. Ridicule as you disguise your words as sugar coated goodness.

She could see it in his eyes. His attitude positive and his smile wide, but his eyes said another thing. She didn't know what, but she could tell that his eyes didn't fit what he was on the outside.

 _Hit him._

 _ **Hurt him. Kill him. Kill that faggot. Kill him and then kill yourself. Piece of shit girl. DO IT!**_

"Get out." She growled. She didn't want him in her room anymore. She didn't want him near her, taunting her with his happiness. His... Euphoria, as she was stuck in a state of despair. A bleak world full of hurt and sadness. How dare he make her sadness his joy. "Get out of my room."

Smile never wavering, Splendor opened his mouth to speak again.

"Don't you want to-" He continued to speak the words, but they were overlapped by the sheer volume of Radiance's roar.

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!"

When her district partner didn't immediately comply, she jumped off the edge of her bed and started to shove him out. "GET OUT! GET OUT!"

"Come on." Splendor said calmly with his arms wide, not even trying to defend himself. "Radi-"

The girl then slammed the door with all her might, causing some of the furniture inside her room to shake. She was pretty sure that Splendor got hit in the face as he gave out an "Ow."

 _ **That's right. Drive everyone away from you. Not like they want to be around you anyway.**_

Radiance then slammed her back onto the door and slide down until she was hugging her knees and bawling for all she was worth. "Radiance!" Splendor yelled from outside her room. "I just want you to know that if you want to talk, I'm here for you! If you want to say anything, anything at all, I'm here! Remember Radiance, we're all in this together! I know! Trust me! I know more than a little of what you might be feeling right now!"

Radiance didn't want to respond. She didn't want to do anything with him. He was taking her happiness. What else could explain it? He was so happy and full of energy, and she was so sad and lifeless. The only things that they had in common were that they were from District One and that they both looked like a mess. What could he understand?

 _Nobody likes you._

The girl looked at her near spent cancer stick before she pressed the glowing end of it on her shoulder, feeling her emotions fade as all she could think of was the burning hot agony on her flesh.

 _ **You're worthless. Just die.**_

* * *

 **Tribute Room #2**

Conflicted.

That was how she felt when she was looking at the other tributes on the television screen. Watching them and their every move. She watched the recordings again and again for a purpose. More than a couple actually, but while one was more important in the long run, another was more important to her internally.

Still, she watched the tributes on the screen with a purpose, and wasn't about to be distracted by her goal. Both of them.

"You know, instead of watching the tributes train, you could go down and train yourself." Her escort told her. The teenage girl didn't like her escort, she always wanted her gone, like she wanted her to just disappear. Thought that there was always something better that she could be doing than what she was currently doing. What the Capitol woman didn't know was that what she was doing was more important than learning how to swing a knife or whatever.

But it was probably more than just that. Why did she really want her gone?

"I'm doing something important." Terra Whitcomb told the adult with no emotion in her voice.

"What's so great about these recordings that it's more important than actually training. If you wanted to see what was happening down in the training center you could of just gone down there."

"I don't want to go down there." The teen answered, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"And why the hell not?" Sabrina asked with a tone that said that she couldn't figure out why her tribute would want to do just that.

"I like it here."

"Yeah." Sabrina scuffed heavily. "I'm sure you like being up here all by your lonesome self. If this were any other year you'd be dead. Cast out of the career pack and left to die by yourself, but I'm sure that's what you'd like." Terra didn't like what she was hearing, so she turned up the volume of the TV set and tried to listen to it some more, but the escort just increased the volume of her voice. "Maybe that's what you want, to just die and be alone. Or are you just so arrogant that you think you can win the games without learning anything new and by your lonesome self?"

Terra couldn't handle it anymore. She felt her emotions quickly build up inside of her because of the adult's words. She let them loose.

"Shut up." Terra told the escort as she turned to face her. Teeth pressed together and her mouth looking like she was trying to snarl like an animal. She looked like someone that was trying to be mad. And while she was angry, she sure didn't look it. And to top if off, her small mouth mixed with full lips made it look strange.

"And what's that supposed to be?" The escort laughed. "Your angry face?" Then with extreme sarcasm, she continued. "Ohh, I'm so scared."

And for someone from District Two, she was one of the least feared teenagers in the district. Pasty white skin that contrasted heavily with her ink black hair that had been cut to barely over shoulder length. And to add to the flaws, she was six feet tall, but didn't nearly have the muscle density that was expected from someone from Two.

"The girl told you to shut up." A far more hostile voice told her as a hand grabbed the escort by the back collar of her shirt and pulled her away from Terra. Terra looked past her now shocked escort and saw her district partner, Thor Houghton, pulling the Capitol woman away from her. Sabrina looked genuinely worried. "So why don't you do what she wants and piss off."

Thor then shoved Sabrina away from them.

"What am I supposed to do then?" Sabrina asked. "You two want to be left alone in the living room."

"Go to your room." Thor suggested harshly. "Or go out. Take your pick."

Terra then saw Sabrina open her mouth, but then she saw her district partner glare at the woman. Sabrina backed down immediately and walked to the elevator. Probably to go out and complain or something. Either way, Terra wished that she could do what Thor had done.

Thor sat on the other side of the couch that Terra was currently sitting on as he poured a rich orange liquid in a glass. "So what have you found?" He asked as he passed a glass to her.

"I don't think Carver and Trail want to be in an alliance with you." She answered as she took the cup of alcohol.

"You don't say." Thor bitterly and sarcastically muttered.

"I do say." Terra said to him, not understanding the way he had said that to her. Thor shaked his head before he took a sip of the harsh liquid.

"Whatever." He sighed as he poured some more glasses before he snapped his fingers at the avoxes and pointed to the liquid filled glasses. Terra had seen him do it before. Giving stuff to the avoxes when their escort had told them that they shouldn't give the avoxes anything. Said that they were traitors or something and that they had their own separate foods and stuff.

Terra didn't know what their own brands were, but from the way that the avoxes ate and drank when Sabrina was gone, she guessed that they were being starved or something. "Anything else you want to add to that?"

"I don't think you should fight Carver again." Terra told him.

"That's not what I-" Thor started, but stopped himself. "Fuck. Never mind. Anything about the other tributes?"

"The District Twelve tributes are still together." She answered.

"No! I mean is there anything that we could use for our alliance!" Thor shouted, annoyed. Terra felt her emotions flare up a bit before she continued in a still monotonic voice.

"How about that District Four girl? Marsha."

"That retarded girl?" Thor asked as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "What the fuck could she offer us?" As Thor lit four cigarettes in his mouth, Terra answered him.

"She seems knowledgeable with traps."

Blowing out the grey smoke, Thor thought for a moment as he handed Terra and two other avoxes a chemical stick.

"True true. But do you think she'll be a fit?"

"Probably." Terra said as she took a drag of the white cylinder.

"Fine. I'll see about the retard. Anyone else?"

"Someone from District Three." Terra answered.

"I don't think so." Thor answered. "That guy will give us away with his fires, and that girl seems to have a perfectionist complexion."

"We need one of them."

"Fine." Thor sighed heavily. "I'll check out perfectionist girl. In the mean time, I'll see if I can get those faggots from Five and Ten."

"Try not to get stuffed in a trash can again." Terra advised.

"Fuck off." Thor shot at her. Terra's emotions once again flared. Terra didn't say or do anything. All she did was drink her alcohol and smoke her smoke. Silence ensnared the room before Thor broke that silence. "Hey, Terra." Terra looked at her district partner, wondering what he wanted. "You trust me, right?"

Terra didn't really know what to think. Every time she was around him she felt her entire body tingle. But that was nothing special, her body tingled whenever she was around anyone, it was just a matter of what degree she was feeling that sensation.

Terra also wondered if he was using her. If he was lying about the purpose of the alliance and if he was going to back down on what he had told her. She wondered if anything he had told her was the truth. Was this just something that he told her to make her lower her guard?

 _Am I just being used? Am I just being used as a puppet for a secret scheme that only he knows? Is he laughing at me right now because of that?_

Terra didn't know if she could trust him, but what he was potentially offering was too good to back down from. So she was putting her faith in him, even if she expected him to stab her in the back at a moment's notice.

She didn't trust him, but she really wanted to.

The girl responded by raising her glass and saying:

"To hope."

Thor smirked, and raised his glass as well.

"I'll drink to that."

* * *

 **Tribute Room #8**

Guilt.

It was such a simple word, but one with powerful emotions and feelings attached to it. It was one that people would use when they felt wrong with what they had done. One that would be associated with those that did things that they knew were frowned upon, but did them anyway for whatever their reasons were.

For Paige Ingram, that word had lost meaning with her long ago. She had described that word to herself, said that word to herself, so many times in the past that it felt like an empty word. An excuse more than anything else.

Guilt, if she could even stand hearing, or even thinking, of that word, was something that she lived with everyday. So much so that it had became a fact of life for her. Maybe even a part of who she was.

It was scary how she missed the feeling when she was medicated. It had been like an emotion had been ripped out of her.

But now she was feeling it again in all its intensity.

She had taken something that wasn't her's once again, and she hated herself for it. And what was worse was that it was something that was immensely valuable to someone else. It wasn't something that could be weighed in cash, but sentimental worth.

She looked at the cache of possessions that were hidden under her bed, and felt a heavy weight in her chest. Stolen things that were of hardly any value to her. In fact, the vast majority of things that she was looking at meant near nothing to her, or maybe anyone else.

Utensils, cups, pens, pieces of red clay and black coal. Cheap items that she had taken due to an overwhelming urge. But one thing in the pile stood out among the rest. A picture of a grinning family consisting of an older gentleman and woman, and in front of them, four boys and a girl. And the youngest one in that picture was her district partner.

Paige felt bad that she had taken the other items, but she felt ashamed that she had taken that picture from Stream. It was pathetic, and she thought of what she could of felt if someone had taken her token, a picture of her family as well.

The emotions of sadness and anger came to her mind. That's what she would of felt, and she was sure that Stream was going to feel that way if he found out that it was missing.

She was going to return everything before the games started, but right now, she felt that Stream's family portrait needed to be returned immediately.

Paige, enraged against herself, cleared away the tears that she had shed and pocketed the picture before she left her room.

 _Hopefully he's out of his room and hasn't noticed that it's missing yet._ Paige said to herself with immense hope _. I mean, I've heard enough about him to know what he's capable of when-_

Paige opened her bedroom door and came into the hallway when she heard screaming and the sound of breaking glass. And she feared the worst.

She went towards the commotion to see what was up, and when she went into the living room, she saw what she feared would happen.

Inside, she saw her district partner throwing glass cups around as avoxes dived for cover.

"Which one of you bastards took it!" Stream roared as he picked up a flower vase. "Was it you?" He then threw the vase at an avox girl that was cowering behind a chair. The vase shattered a few feet away from her position as she gave out a weird scream. "Was it you?" Stream picked up the stand that vase had been on, and threw it at an avox boy that ducked under the incoming projectile. "Give it back! Fucking give it back!"

"Give what back?" The escort asked with a shaky voice. She was holding onto an avox boy like a shield. And they were both behind an overturned table.

"My token you bitch!" Stream told her before he ran towards the escort, pulled the avox away from her, and grabbed the front of her dress with both hands and started to shake her violently. "Did you take it? You've been all up in my business and have been in my fucking room! You took it didn't you! Where is it? WHERE!"

"I don't-" She tried to say, but Stream wasn't having any of it.

"Lies! Fucking lies!"

Fearing for the escort's life, and the avoxes, Paige took matters into her own hands. The guilt too overwhelming for her to stay silent.

"I've got it!" She shouted desperately. She saw her district partner snap his head towards her. His eyes burning with such intensity that she feared him, even though he looked like he wasn't even old enough to be reaped. "I've got it!" She then pulled the picture of her her pocket and showed it to him. "Here! Take it! I'm sorry that I-"

"You're the one that stole it?" Stream bellowed as he rushed towards her until he tackled her to the ground. Paige felt her feet leave the floor before she felt her back slam painfully against the ground. Air rushed out of her body as she temporarily forgot how to breathe. "YOU BITCH!"

Paige then felt powerful clamps tighten around her neck as her air supply was cut off. Upon instinct, she grabbed her throat, and felt hands squeezing on her neck. She suddenly realized that Stream was strangling her.

With fear washing over her, Paige tried to get the little boy to release his grip on her, but his hands were wrapped around her so tightly that she could hardly get a grip on his fingers. In fact, it felt as if his fingers were digging right into her flesh.

It was as agonizing as it was terrifying.

Paige fought, but while Stream was tiny, she wasn't that big herself. That, and she almost didn't feel like fighting at all. The only thing that kept her going was her self preserve instincts. But she felt so bad that she wasn't fighting her hardest.

 _Maybe I deserve this._ She told herself as the corners of her vision started to become fuzzy. _After all, I've caused so much pain because of my illness. And I could of destroyed Stream because of it._

Then before she knew it, Paige felt her throat expand as air rushed back into her throat. Her vision cleared as she felt immense pain in her neck and began coughing harshly as she struggled to get air back inside of her.

She heard Stream continue to scream and curse, but when she looked in his direction, she saw three peacekeepers restraining him.

"Get him to his room!" The escort demanded. "And don't let him out!"

The peacekeepers then hauled Stream to his room as he continued to slander the men.

Paige looked at Stream and the peacekeepers, then to the destruction of the living room. Everything but the TV and ceiling were wrecked at least minorly. Furniture was flipped or moved, items were smashed or thrown around, and the walls had some dents of holes in them.

Avoxes looked scared and worried. The escort was having a fit, and one avox was even crying while a couple of other avoxes were comforting her. And Paige. Paige felt horrendous.

 _I made this._ She thought with horror and sadness. She saw that Stream's family picture was on the floor. He had no time to pick it up, nor had he been in the right state of mind to pick it up.

Paige began to weep again as she picked up the picture and place it in her pocket again. _The things I do_. She said to herself before she went to an avox and said to him.

"I want you to help me with something."


	13. Training Day 3 Part 1

**Gamemaker Operation Room**

Tried.

If there was one thing that he was feeling, tired wasn't one of them. He relished that thought as he sipped on his alcoholic iced tea and looked at the gamemakers and thought of how exhausted they looked.

The Capitol work people were sitting in front of their screens, or their white boards, struggling to stay awake and not drift off into slumber land. To do that, they had their ways of handling it. Some were drinking ludicrous amounts of coffee while some were popping caffeine pills into their systems. Some were drinking energy replenishments while others smoked cigarettes. All in a desperate attempt to stay awake and alert. And even then, some of them were close to failure.

It was the Hunger Games they were working on, and a quarter quell no less. It was something that they looked forward to year after year, but even so, this was a special game. A Hunger Game with a twist, making it more special, and more demanding than a normal game.

They wanted it to be as close to perfection as they could possibly make it. And because of the events of past games, especially quarter quells, they were nit picking every detail they could find. They wanted it to be as flawless as possible. And even at two in the morning, a mere three days from the main event, they were still working on it.

Even President Booker was helping with the construction of the eighth quarter quell.

He smiled to himself as he took yet another sip of near frozen tea drink. He paced back and forth swiftly, not wanting to sit down. Things were looking up. Things were really looking up.

"Sir!" One of the gamemakers shouted from his position, not taking his eyes off his computer screen. "Is this new set up really necessary? It's uncomfortable, and to be frank, quite weird."

"It's absolutely necessary!" The leader announced loudly as he continued to pace. "Trust me, I wouldn't tell you to do something unless it was necessary!"

"Sir," Another gamemaker piped up. "Are you sure that this is the best method of handling the arena?"

"Well this is one of many ways," The sir answered. "I mean, I've got many more ideas coming up if you don't like what I'm doing with the arena. What exactly do you not like about it?"

"Well it just seems a little... I don't know. Odd. If I didn't know better, I'd say that your trying to get the tributes to escape."

"Of course I'm not." The sir replied with a wave of his hand. "What do you think I want to do? Lose my job? Lose my life? You're crazy if you think that I'm going to put everything on the line just because I'm doing things a little differently."

"Yes sir. Didn't mean to insult you, sir." The gamemaker apologised.

"It's fine." The sir told him as he run a hand through his scruffy ash blonde hair. No doubt from lack of sleep and lack of personal care.

The dark sags under his bloodshot teal eyes showed that he hadn't slept in a while, but his eyes were somehow a mixture of awake, alert, and tired. He wasn't hungry, but he couldn't remember the last time he had ate. But none of those things really mattered to him. He didn't think about trivial things and just focused on his goals, and what he wanted done.

He wasn't tired, he wasn't hungry, and he certainly wasn't going to waste time showering. All those things took time. Time that could be used doing something productive. Something that mattered. There were just some things that couldn't wait. If he wanted to do something, he did it, and nothing was going to stop him. Not unless he forgot of course.

His thoughts came in faster than he could process them, and that gave him many things to think about. And even though he forgot things as easily as he came up with new ones, he was in a creative mode that had nearly no equal. He was at the top of the world.

Or so he mostly felt. There were still some problems that he had began to experience that were unpleasant. Like, more unplesent than some of the things he was already experiencing.

He set his adult iced tea down and started to write words on the white board as another gamemaker decided to voice her opinion.

"So if I remember correctly, sir, you want us to drop ration supplies to the tributes every six hours?"

"That's correct." The sir told her as he continued to scribble words. "Can't have hungry tributes now can we? After all, a hungry tribute is an angry tribute."

"Err..." She started, but was cut off.

"No we can not. Because if they don't have food they'll starve. And if they starve they'll die. And if they die. Well, that's not good is it. I mean, that's horrible. Really really horrible. Imagine their pain and suffering as their bodies start to shut down and eat itself. They'll get weak and maybe go crazy. Throats as dry as sand, urination feels like your pissing out needles, they get so hungry that they stop realizing that they're even hungry."

"Uhh... Yes sir."

The sir then got more and more focused on writing the words on the white board that he started to tune out of the room. Unfortunately for him, people kept on trying to get his attention. He kept on writing, and he didn't want to stop. He couldn't stop. And he certainly wanted to get it done. It had to be done. It just had to. Nothing else mattered until it got all done.

"Sir, if I may ask-"

"SILENCE!" The sir roared before the entire room went almost silent. The only sound in the room being the sound of a marker pressing against a white board.

The near silence was a little eerie, but he didn't really care. He just needed to get his task done. As quickly as he hand would go, he wrote word after word on the board. The writing wasn't neat or straight or anything. It was a jumbled up mess of words that went in all directions. Letters crossed other letters, words overlapped words, and the white board was soon becoming a blue board.

The words coming into his mind so fast that by the time he writing one word, his mind told him that he needed to write down another thirty or more. It hurt his head. It felt as if it was going to split open and expose the inside of his head. A brain that was on fire.

How long had he felt that inferno inside his head? Hours? Days? He couldn't remember. All he remembered about the unpleasant sensation was that it appeared out of nowhere and only grew as time went on.

 **Don't Worry. It'll be okay. You'll be okay.**

He was told as word after word was written. He believed that voice. It was a kind voice, a familiar voice, that always made him feel a little bit more at ease. He liked hearing that voice talk to him. But at the same time, he knew that he couldn't stop the task at hand. He needed to get it done. He needed to write down those words.

When the task was done, he felt immense relief. He gave out a sigh and turned around to face the working class, when he came face to face with the head gamemaker. A man that looked almost unaltered except for his dark green hair and violet eyes.

The writer gave out a startled yelp before he quickly regained his emotions.

"How did you get in here?" The head gamemaker snarled, staring at him right in the eyes.

"I walked in." He answered honestly. He wasn't intimidated in the least. He continued to smile confidently, didn't retreat a single step, and didn't even shudder. The only thing that he did was blink rapidly and tried to restrain himself from doing some truly, horrifically, ridiculous things.

 **He won't hurt you. You're fine. Nothing bad will happen to you.**

"The peacekeepers just let you in?" The head gamemaker asked angrily, not believing a word that had came out of the younger man's mouth.

"Yeah." He explained as he thought of how he just swaggered past them like he owned the place. "I mean, they didn't try to stop me or anything. I just walked in though the door and-"

"You ordered my people around!" The Capitol man screamed, his face twisting more out of shape as he became more and more enraged.

"I ordered the people around. And why shouldn't I?"

"Because your trespassing on gamemaker property and ordering around people that shouldn't follow orders from you."

"I think you've got it wrong. You're the imposter! I'm the head gamemaker, and you're a fraud!" The younger man yelled as he pointed an accusing finger at the person in front of him.

It was then that the Capitol man's face turned into one that was of confusion mixed with anger.

"What did you say?" He asked. Nearly snarling.

"You heard me you impostor! I'm Splendor Blackwell! Head gamemaker of the Hunger Games."

Splendor then noticed that all heads were turning towards him and the real head gamemaker. The Capitol citizens then started to look at the teenager with looks of shock. Those looks of shock quickly turned all cross like. _Not that I can blame them._ Splendor thought with way too much happiness. _I did trick them into thinking that I was their head gamemaker._

 **It was pretty darn easy to do so though. Not your fault they're so gullible.**

 _I suppose not._ Splendor thought as glares intensified.

Splendor then thought of how easy it should of been to tell that he wasn't even a Capitol citizen. His skin wasn't green, or red, or some other ugly colour, it was the colour of a light tan. His hair wasn't something from the rainbow, and it wasn't a stylised mess like the prep-team had made it, it was just simply a mess. And that went for his three days worth of stubble as well.

"Are you mental?" The head gamemaker growled.

"Yes." Splendor answered without hesitation. "Didn't you hear what the quarter quell was this year? 'For the eighth quarter quell! To remind the rebels of the emotional trauma that was inflected upon our children, each district shall be required to send in tributes with mental disorders!'" He said with his best President Booker impersonation. He smiled to himself, thinking that he did pretty good. "And as you can see!" Splendor shouted with his own voice, with his hands raised high into the air and waved them around. "I was reaped! I'm MENTAL!" He almost sounded proud of it. "What do you think about that sea weed head!"

 **Well done.**

"Thank you."

Everyone in the room looked at the teenager in shock, not knowing what to say. Hell, they didn't even move. Splendor expected that. After all, with his awesome super power, things tend to go his way. Not all the time, but eventually they came his way. And he was super confident that he'd achieve his eluding goal.

The head gamemaker, red faced from anger and embarrassment, was the first to recover before he shouted for the peacekeepers to come in remove Splendor from the premises. Splendor could only howl with laughter at how easy it had been to get into the gamemakers base of operations and see a glimpse of the arena. How easy it was to get past the peacekeepers and boss around the gamemakers for a whole ten minutes.

 **Remember mate, you are special.**

"Yes. Yes I am." Splendor agreed, still cracking up at what he had done.

"I can't belive he got us to flip our chairs and tables upside down!" He heard one of the gamemakers cry out. It made the smile on his face widen. _They better not flip those table back over though_. He said to himself as the thought of them turning the tables back over made him want to run back, but the peacekeepers that were dragging him back to his room weren't going to let him have none of that.

Splendor soon forgot about the furniture as his mind raced with thought of how to achieve his goal. The goal that had been eluding him for some time.

From the get go, he knew that it wasn't going to be an easy task, but he was determined, if not driven, to make it happen.

 **Tribute Room #8**

He hated her.

She had stolen the picture of his family and had hidden if from him. And only recently had she told him that she had stolen it. That thing meant the world to him since he had been separated from his brothers and sister. And how long had she had it in her grubby little thieving hands? How long had she hidden it away from him? She was a bitch through and through and deserved to have what came to her.

Stream looked at himself in the cracked mirror and thought about his district partner, knowing that what he was telling himself was a lie. Paige didn't deserve to be strangled. She didn't even deserve to get yelled at. Even those avoxes didn't deserve to be scared out of their minds as he lost his temper for the umpteenth time.

Even his escort, Rufina, might not of deserved all the hate he had sent her way. Sure she had reaped him, but she had reaped other kids as well. But she was a Capitol citizen that actively encouraged the Hunger Games that he was going to participate in. So maybe she deserved some of the hate he sent her way.

Either way, Stream hated the fact that he had an outburst like that. He could of damn well killed his district partner.

He hadn't been thinking at the time, just letting his anger take control of him, just wanting her to suffer. But as came back down to earth, he realized just what he had done, and felt nothing but disgust for himself.

Paige hadn't done anything to him other than take something from him. And he knew of her condition. She wasn't as notorious as him, but he had heard of the deeds she had done. It surprised him that she would do what she did when he first heard of her. After all, wasn't she the mayor's daughter or something?

They tired to hide it, but word of mouth spread far and fast. And because of the word of mouth, Stream was never fully accepted by anyone. Even with his family he always felt out of place.

His parents had struggled with his emotional problem, and his siblings also paid a price just for having the last name of Outgo. Because of him.

And he was paying a price right now. He didn't want to go down and train in fear that he would act up again. After all, getting frustrated was easy, and when there's a weapon in your hands...

And even if he felt like going down there, what made him think that he was going to learn anything now? Today was the last day for training, and when lunch ended, all would be forced to do private sessions.

What could he possibly do to woo the gamemakers?

The odds had not been in his favor from the get go. He was fourteen, the youngest tribute of the year. And the smallest. Even the girls from District Twelve and District Ten were taller than him. Sponsors weren't going to bet on him because he was young. Hell, unlike the twelve and thirteen year olds that were reaped from games before, he wasn't even a cute little kid.

Small and skinny? Check. Light skinned? Check. Straight golden blonde hair? Check. Green eyes? Check? Cuteness? Not check.

He may of looked like he was ten years old, but his rough and angular baby face made for an odd combination to say the least. He almost always looked angry, like a cornered animal. The right side of his mouth was always slightly open, lips on that side always a little twisted, like he was ready to snarl.

And he didn't even want to get started on his oily skin. It was like God had dropped him in a batch of cooking oil and could never get him properly cleaned before he decided that Stream was good enough and sent him to be born. And because of that, no matter how much he washed his body, it always seemed like he had a thin film of sweat on him. He wasn't surprised that he had gotten pimples. Just like his older siblings, he had mild acne that dotted and trailed down his face and neck.

Paige Ingram wasn't the best looking girl with her near ghostly white skin on a thin body, curly blonde hair, and deep dimples that reminded him of older women. But she had some noticeable curves, which was more than most of the girl's this year had. Someone would probably be interested in her, even if there are most attractive girls than her.

But even if the Capitol didn't sponsor her, she had her rich family and probably had a few friends that might chip in for her. Stream knew that his family couldn't afford the absurd priced gifts. And Stream had no friends, he had scared them away and kids were too scared of him to even try and associate with him.

Looking at himself, he saw the bloodshot and puffy eyes from both lack of sleep and from crying.

He had tried to go to sleep, but he couldn't. Guilt and anger, but mostly guild, haunted his mind and the short dreams he had managed to get.

His family, his former friends, Paige, the avoxes. Everyone that came near him was always in danger of getting hurt physically or emotionally. And he hated that.

The more he thought about that subject, the more angry he became. Angry at himself and what he had done. Angry towards his illness.

Stream then started to smash his head against the bathroom counter, not caring about how much it hurt him, as long as it hurt him. As long as he got what he deserved.

 **Tribute Room #3**

Irritation.

That's what she was feeling as she witnessed the sight in front of her. Yet again, things weren't right. She wondered how many times it would take for them to get it right. She had told them maybe forty times how to get it right, and yet, they still couldn't even get a simple thing right. It was infuriating. How could they got get it right after everything that she had told them?

"I've told you again and again and I'll tell you again and again!" Dayta Casteel screamed at the avox boys that served breakfast. "You place the stuff like this!" Dayta then rearranged the items of food until it was in neat rows and columns. Each plate was divided into four, with one plate having grains, another with meats, another with the vegetables, and the last with the dairy. The beverages were divided into four as well. The juices, the milks, the alcohol, and the caffeinated. "And that's how you do it!"

"Where's the desert?" Her district partner, Nick Sirga asked as he examined the small feast.

"Who eats desert for breakfast?" The girl yelled as she threw her hands in the air. "You're not supposed to have any kind of cake, pie, pastry, or brownie until after dinner!" Did they not teach him how to eat properly? What kind of person eats desert at breakfast or whenever they felt like it?

"I would if you'd allow it." The burned boy muttered as he picked up a piece of cheese. Dayta saw that, and immediately, she felt herself twitch as her thoughts told her how wrong that was. She couldn't stand that Nick would even consider eating dairy products first when there was an order on how to eat food.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dayta once again screamed before she knocked the piece of cheese out of her district partner's hand.

"I was going to eat that!" Nick shouted at her as he glared back at her. Dayta just glared back.

"You eat the grain's first! And then the meat! Then the vegetables! And THEN the dairy!" She explained to him, hating that he couldn't get it straight. _Those burns of his must of fried his brain._

"Oh come on!" Nick shouted in frustration. "You expect me to follow that stupid order of yours?"

"It's not my order, it's the order it's supposed to be, the proper order, the right order." Dayta explained. "It's the way we're supposed to eat."

"Says what god and what rules?" Nick challenged harshly. "I just want to eat a fucking piece of cheese!"

"Then eat some toast and chicken and green beans first!" Dayta couldn't see what was so hard about all that. It was the way to eat. Only lazy, incompetent, uncivilized people ate in any which order they wanted to. And if there was anything that Dayta considered herself to be, it wasn't incompetent.

If anything she was organized and able to accomplish things. She was able to do things right and able to accomplish things to a high standard. It was how that, even though she was only fifteen years old, she was able to become a manager of the factory she worked at. She did the most important aspect of making sure a factory ran efficiently, doing the paper work. She didn't leave anything half done and made everything easy to access, working over time to make sure that everything was just right and ready.

Did the other kids have that kind of dedication? No. They did things to the minimum standard and called it good enough. They left the manufacturing floor a mess by leaving things on the floor and leaving things where they were and didn't bother to put them away. It was the very definition of haphazard to its fullest. Dayta couldn't help but feel disgusted by those kids. Didn't their mothers ever ask them to clean up after themselves?

She had created a system for the workers to follow, but all they seemed to do was hate her more. She couldn't understand why they would hate her, she was just trying to improve things, make things cleaner and more organized. She would try to explain how the system worked and how things would be better if they followed it, but all the kids, and even the adults, didn't want to follow her instructions, even when the head manager told them to follow her lead.

They all just wanted to be lazy slobs, and when she got angry at them, they told her she was being unreasonable! Her, being unreasonable? She couldn't belive that they thought that she was being unreasonable of all things!

She couldn't get people to cooperate with her and her plan wasn't doing anything to help the situation or the production line. She felt really angry at the people, but she was also feeling really discomforted with the fact that she couldn't get them to work with her. They were negative to her, hostile even, and she hated that. She just wanted to make things easier and better of them.

And it was repeating itself again. At home, at work, in the Capitol, in the moment, it seemed that everywhere was the same. People just didn't appreciate what it was like to be neat and organized. But she supposed that people like Nick, who acted just as he looked, like a barbarian, didn't appreciate the proper way of doing things.

"Christ!" Nick yelled as he threw his hands up in the air. "Do you have to make something so simple so hard?"

"How can you not do something so basic?" Dayta countered.

"You know what? Screw this. I'm eating some cheese and there's nothing you can do to stop me." Nick then picked up another piece of cheese, and before Dayta could do anything, Nick chomped on the dairy product and chewed it.

"You can't do that!" Dayta screamed with horror. He had just broken a rule of eating! Dayta couldn't stand it, she started to feel her skin crawl and her chest tighten. "You... Order... Food... Noooo!" _That's not the way things are supposed to be!_

Dayta then started to breathe heavily and try to get over the extreme discomfort she was feeling. "Not the way. Not the way. Not the way. Not the way. Order. Order. Order. Order. The way it's meant to be. The way it's meant to be. The way it's meant to be. The way it's meant to be. That's right. That's right. That's right. That's right."

"Calm down." Nick sighed. "It's just cheese."

"Just... Cheese..." Dayta growled through the discomfort of tingling skin. "It's not just cheese! But I guess an stupid, incompetent, weak willed, kid with a broiled brain wouldn't understand!" Dayta shouted as she closed the gap between herself and Nick. She stood on her toes to give herself some height, but she still couldn't reach the height Nick stood at. Her teeth pressed together and her eyes glowing with rage.

"Well there is one thing I do understand!" Nick yelled back, not backing off from her.

"And what's that, Nick?" Dayta challenged.

"Your way of doing things suck ass!"

With those words being said, Dayta felt all the air in her lungs being sucked out all at once. She couldn't breathe. In fact, she forgot how to breathe as Nick's words striked her hard. Her body tingled even more, making it so unbearable it felt like agony. She felt light headed and felt that she was going to vomit.

Then her eyes started to burn.

"My plans don't SUCK!" Dayta screamed before she shoved Nick with both her hands with all her might. But Nick was taller and wider than her, and he was a lot stronger as her shove hardly made him move. She didn't care though, she just wanted to shove him. Needed to shove him, before she turned away from him and ran from him. She ran to her room, and no matter what she told herself, she was crying.

 **Capitol Training Room**

Terrified.

If there was a word to describe what he was feeling, it would be that. But more. If anything, he was frightened out of his wits at what was occurring around him. At what was around him.

All around him were the screams of the semi-transparent demons that were gliding around the room, circling around him and the other people that were occupying the room. Screaming at him, screaming at the other people. He couldn't stand it, but they wouldn't go away, no matter what he said or did. They just stayed there, screaming in that scary voice of their's.

He could of swore that they were screaming in agony, but they weren't. It was their natural voice, a satanic voice that was meant to torture anyone that could hear them.

And not only that, but he could hear their thoughts. He could hear their thoughts and their leader's thoughts. Always commanding him to do things. Telling him to kill himself, to harm others, to harm himself, telling him how they were going to suck his soul out and leave him an empty shell for all eternity.

 **Go to Hell.**

 **Bastard.**

Diesel Tarbeck did not want to be on this floor. If anything, he wanted to be left alone back in that bedroom where he felt some kind of semblance of safety. But no, that damn Capitol woman demanded that he go down and participate in the ritual that the Hunger Games demanded he do. And when he didn't comply, those men in white uniforms dragged him down there.

And now here he was, in danger of having his soul sucked from his being and being assaulted by the forces of evil. He wondered if the other kids had something to do with what was happening. After all, he didn't feel so exposed and in danger when they weren't around.

He looked at a group of them, sitting on the floor beside those upside down tables and chairs. Those tables probably have something to do with the way they're moving. Diesel thought at the ghosts circled around the kids. Summoning them or something. A portal? A way of enhancing their powers?

Sucking on his cancer stick, one of the screaming ghosts stopped beside him and stroked his cheek with it's foul and disfigured hand.

 **We will have you.** It said as the teenager felt it's slimy and bony fingers across his face. Diesel shuddered with fright before the ghost stopped touching him and started to float away.

And that wasn't even the scariest thing that was happening to him.

Ghosts gliding around, touching him, and wailing as he could sometimes connect with them was horrifying, but there was more. So much more.

There was that demonic laughter that occurred very often. When that deep, rumbling, rough laughter occurred, it was like the devil himself was inside the room. His voice so powerful that it sounded like the entire room was laughing at him. Diesel couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from as it came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

And there were worse things in his opinion than hearing the thoughts of wailing ghosts and hearing the devil laugh at him. Oh yeah, there were things that were much more frightening.

There were voices and sounds that he couldn't locate. At least with the ghosts he could see them. As for the devil, he had always known that there was something evil that was trying to grab him. There was that feeling of being watched by invisible forces, and he felt things that couldn't be seen. It was like something worse than the ghosts were touching him and rubbing him everywhere. He hated that.

And then there was the people. He felt that everyone he saw was trying to hurt him, or at least thinking of hurting him. Wether they were working with the ghosts and the devil he did not know, but he always felt threatened by them.

 **Don't trust them.**

 **Don't trust anybody.**

 **They're after you. Always after you.**

 **We see you.**

Diesel continued to consume the nicotine cigarette as everything became just the slightest bit less intense. It wasn't enough to make a significant difference, but he was willing to take what he could get. Whatever made him feel better, he was willing to take.

"And I see you." He told them as they floated around him.

Diesel heard laughter. He couldn't help but look at where it was coming from. Looking from his hiding place, behind a pile of pallets used to ship food and stuff to the training center floor, and saw four kids together.

There was the District Twelve pair, the District Ten boy, and the District One guy chatting together. The boy from One was the one laughing. He was laughing hard.

 **He's laughing at you.**

 **You just going to let him do that? Make him pay! Cut his tongue out!**

Diesel couldn't hear what they were saying, but he was convinced that the boy was laughing at him. He was facing him and had probably heard something from either himself, or the others. He looked to see the expressions of the other kids, and saw that they all had smiles on their faces and were laughing, but not as hard as the District One guy.

 **They're all laughing at you. Why are you just standing there? Hit them! Kill them!**

The boy from One lifted his head up, and Diesel saw that he had taped about four ice packs around his head. _What the fuck?_ Diesel asked himself before a voice shouted at him.

 **LOOK AWAY!**

Diesel did just that as he saw ice pack head eye's drawing towards him.

 **HIDE!**

Diesel then ducked back into his hiding place, wondering if they had seen him. _I sure hope not. Who's knows what they'd do. Probably make a portal and send me to Hell!_

Diesel started to shake as he thought about that.

Diesel really wanted to talk to his grandfather, but then remembered that he was dead. Taking to the skies by aliens and then dropped when they had no use for him.

 _I don't want this._ Diesel thought as he clutched his head, ignoring the fact that his cigarette was burning the webbing between his index and middle finger. _I hate this. I HATE THIS!_

 **A/N: Not the best chapter, but doing Dayta and Diesel was hard for him.**

 **Anyway, not updating as much as I'd like. Army stuff getting in the way and stuff.**

 **From what I'm planning on doing (very subject to change) I plan on having six or seven more chapters before the games start.**

 **Oh yes, the reward for whoever correctly guesses the most tribute mental disorders is still up for grabs. Until I give out what they are, which could be in as short as three chapters (again, very subject to change). So far, StellaSlomp is in the lead with four (and a half?) correct, because she's the only one who's guessed. Looks like the reward might be going to you Stella.**

 **I also have a beta editing the earlier chapters, so I might get even slower with the upcoming chapters.**


	14. Training Day 3 Part 2

**Capitol Training Room**

Pissed off.

That's what Nick was feeling even as he waited for his time to show the gamemakers whatever skills he had for the private session. It started with Dayta and her damn perfectionist nature and the bullshit way that she demanded of him and others.

But he wasn't mad at her. No, the time to be angry at her had passed a while ago. Instead, he was angry at himself for lashing out at her the way he had, and that feeling still hadn't passed.

When she left in tears, Nick suddenly didn't feel like eating or drinking anymore. Instead, he felt himself shaking and wanting to go after her. But he didn't. He let her run to her room and feel awful. He felt horrible that he could reduce someone to tears, even if it was perfectionist and controlling Dayta. She had a problem, just like him and the other tributes of the year, and he had pushed her.

When his emotions started to get the better of him, Nick was unable to calm down. He was shaking and couldn't feel anything but dread, anger, and a feeling of uneasiness. That was when he poured a bottle of vodka into a trashcan and threw a match into the pool of liquid, creating a fire.

It calmed him down for the time being, but now that he was sitting on the bench, waiting for the gamemakers to call him in, he only relied on his homemade lighter to produce a little flame to try and calm him down.

Dayta didn't want to sit next to him, and he wondered if she was ever going to interact with him again outside of the arena. He didn't want their next interaction to be inside the arena when they were expected to kill each other. Instead, he wanted to make amends with her before then. At least then he would of felt some closure with her before one or both of them disappeared from the world.

He wanted to go to her. Wanted to apologize to her. Wanted to make things right, but he remained glued to his upside down seat as he flicked his lighter open and closed, creating sparks and flames. Because truth be told, Nick was scared. He was scared of people and tended to avoid them if all possible.

He skipped school because the kids made him nervous and were afraid of him. He found that stupid because he was probably more afraid of them than they were of him. They thought that he was dangerous and a psycho, all because he liked playing with fire. _It's not like I'm going to set them on fire or anything._ Nick thought as he took a deep sigh.

His looks didn't improve his relationships with his peers either. At only sixteen years of age he was the closest to looking like an actual monster. A boy that looked more like a man with his square face, rugged features, and more muscular than most District Three kids. And then there were his burn marks that covered nearly half his body. A mixture of black and dark red burns that had the texture and feeling of rough leather.

 _I look like a monster. I like fire. So they think that I'm some kind of arsonist demon._

And then there was that accident. If there was the slimiest chance that Nick could of fit in that accident ruined it. And the only person that didn't alienate him was his one and only friend, Pixel Mobile. She had a weird name, but Nick was weird by nature, so he didn't say anything nor did he even mind. He was just glad that someone other than his parents saw him as something other than an arsonist.

And Dayta... Dayta probably wanted to be seen as something other than a perfectionist bitch. Nick hadn't said a word to her since he had cursed her out, and he still felt like banging his head against a wall. He really wanted to say something to her, but he was afraid of her reaction. Would she reject it? Would she accuse him of lying? He didn't know, and that scared him.

The burned boy sighed heavily as he placed his head between his hands. _Come on man, you've got to talk to her sooner or later. And it might as well be sooner than later. I mean, if Ryan and Falco could make up with each other, why can't Dayta and I? Come on, she's right next to you._

At least, he thought that's what happened. After all, Ryan and Falco had been talking to each other along with Ashton and Splendor earlier. Or maybe it was just another fight waiting to happen. Either way, at least they had spoken to each other and it appeared as if they had made up with each other.

 _Might as well try_. Nick told himself as he produced a tiny flame on his lighter before he blew it out.

He turned to his district partner said to her.

"Hey, Dayta, can we talk?"

"What is it, Nick?" She asked. She wasn't bitter about it, but she wasn't happy about it either. Nick thought that that was a good thing.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. It was, wrong."

"Apology not accepted." The girl huffed, causing Nick to reel back in shock. _This isn't how it's supposed to go!_

"What do you mean apology not accepted?" Nick asked, his tone of voice a bit higher than normal.

"I just don't believe you, that's all." Dayta explained. "People back home would say things to me all the time, but they never did change." _I knew this wasn't going to be easy._

"So what'll it take then?" Nick asked.

"I'd just like you to listen to me, and then I might accept your apology." She told him. "But until then, you can say sorry all you like and it would make no difference."

Nick then thought of what happened at breakfast earlier. The weird way that Dayta had everything set up and had a way to eat breakfast. If that was only one thing, what could she possible have for the rest of the time? He'd have to write down everything just to remember what to do so that he wouldn't anger his district partner. He didn't know if he could stand following the instructions of a perfectionist that had a way for everything.

But then again, he only had to do it for today and tomorrow, and then they'd be in the games. So all he'd need to do was follow her directions for the next two days. It would be tough, but he thought it was do able. And wouldn't it be worth it to not have her hate you the entire time?

"Fine." Nick groaned slightly. "Is there anything that I should know?"

"Your lighter is wrong."

"I know it's wrong." Nick told her as he held it up to her. "It's homemade, but that doesn't mean that it's broken."

* * *

Her eyes wouldn't stay open.

She wanted to go to sleep, but her body wouldn't allow her to. She could close her eyes and keep them closed for as long as she wanted, but sleep would never come and capture her and allow her to experience something so simple and blissful.

She couldn't get it every night, or even every two or three nights, naturally. But if she took matters into her own hands and drank alcohol until she passed out, she would feel as if she had fallen asleep, and that would make her feel better.

Sure she'd wake up with the feeling that he head was being split open, but there was a price for everything.

Still, she felt terrible, with or without the drinks. Her throat dry, her eyes heavy, her stomach always turning, and she felt weak. Oh so very weak, both mentally and physically. She didn't feel like doing anything, and her thinking was slow.

Ivy wondered how Carver could continue on his life when he drank even more than her to achieve the desired effect. She would always pass out before him, but she would wake up earlier, and always, always he was still asleep. Glass bottles everywhere as they instructed the avoxes to stay away from them at night, only letting them come in when they were both awake because they didn't want to be disturbed.

It was just like back home, only instead of Carver it was her dad, and instead of avoxes it was her mother. And instead of alcohol, it was homemade morphine that was created by her father and the other District Seven victors. Their product wasn't as effective as the Capitol's stuff, but it still did the job, to an extent.

It may of helped others, but it certainly didn't help her get to sleep. All it did was make her more tired and made her symptoms worse. It was bad, but she always had some hope that they would eventually put her to sleep and that would be that. Never did.

Instead, it would put more red dots on her arm and make her sicker than before. She would get the shakes and she'd be freezing. The alcohol helped control that. She wouldn't be shaking or feeling chills. She wouldn't be sweating or thinking of suicide. She also wouldn't be seeing and hearing things as much. Alcohol dulled everything, and that was how she liked it. And drink enough of it and you'd pass out, not like morphine or other drugs where you take too much and you die.

Ivy thought of her father, and wondered if he was dead or alive. He was consuming those homemade narcotics like they were bread. His skin was nearly transparent and thin, so much so that she could see each and every one of his veins. The whites of his eyes were turning yellow, and his self injuries had been getting more and more frequent.

She wondered if she would start to be like him. If she made it through the games, would she become just like him? She was more like him than she'd like to admit. Drug user. Saw and heard things nobody else could see or hear. Always wanting to escape the world. The only difference between him and her was that he was depressed while she was only sad.

And there were the looks. Both her parents were dark blondes, but she managed to get a dark red colour. Her parents were tan to one degree or another, and she was sun burnt with skin peeling. But if there was one thing they all shared it was light blue eyes. Both her mother, father, and herself, shared light blue eyes.

So they were different, but the same, in some ways.

The sun burnt girl looked around and noticed the two people that interested her. Splendor, and Anna. They both seemed to have never ending energy and wide awake. And Splendor. Splendor was happy. Oh so happy. She wished that she was like either one of them.

She wondered what kinds of drugs they took to get them to be that way.

Maybe if she got lucky and won the games she'd find out. She'd use the money to get drugs to make her and her dad happy and active so that they could finally start living life again. And assuming that the Capitol gives back their medications, their lives could be further enhanced with the drugs she'd buy.

She wouldn't have to worry about going to school or maintaining a job any longer. After all, those two things had failed her, so she'd have to come up with another way to live, and being a junkie wasn't one of them. Being a victor however, was a thing she'd like to happen to her. All she had to do was impress the gamemakers and she'd be on her way to victory.

 _Now... What should I show them?_ Ivy thought and thought, but her mind kept coming up blank. _What did I learn here again?_

* * *

Nothing.

There was a feeling of vacancy inside of him, and he didn't understand what could have caused it. After all, wasn't the drug supposed to make you feel better? Wide awake and hyper active? That was what he had heard they were supposed to do, and though he didn't care about the hyper active components of the narcotic, it did help him stay awake.

But what he had never heard about was the feelings of nothingness. The feeling that you aren't even alive, or even exist any more. Wasn't the drug supposed to also make you feel better? It did in the beginning. He still remembered the first time he had taken a hit of that substance. It had made him not care about anything, his sense of fear was washed away and replaced with something that resembled joy. Not really happiness, but a sense of well being and it made him feel smarter as well.

He felt that he could be more, that he was more. All of those were a bonus to what he seeked, and he loved it. He liked the stuff he consumed, it kept sleep away.

But now he wasn't sure of what he was supposed to feel anymore. It was like he was stuck in a black void of pure nothingness and couldn't climb out of it. Or could barely get out of it. When the crash came, it crashed hard, but there was always a way back to that realm of well being, no matter how high it was.

He and Zora would smoke it, and then everything would be all better. Sure there was hardly a rush when he did it now, but he took what he could get. After all, the feeling of emptiness, the feelings of physical and mental agony and exhaustion on the down were almost as terrible as the thing he was trying to run from.

Or were they?

It was becoming extremely difficult for him to tell which thing he was running away from. Was it the mental condition that he had feared ever since he was little, or was it the crash that he didn't even want to think about?

He didn't know the answer to that question, but if there was one thing that Harvey Salvador did know, it was that he didn't wish for either of those things to happen to him. To him, both were forms of torture that he didn't want to inflict upon himself. He didn't even want to think about them.

All that mattered were two things. That he didn't fall asleep, and that he didn't run out of that powerful stimulant that was being provided to him.

His parents and his friends didn't even want him thinking about the quartz, but they didn't understand what he was going through and what he wanted out of his life. So much so that his friends didn't even want to associate with him anymore because of something that they thought was bad.

And the fucking Capitol was the worst about it. They repeatedly demanded that he and Zora stop consuming the quartz stones, but who were they to tell him how to control his symptoms when they were the ones that brought it back into his life? If it weren't for them he wouldn't have resorted to the manufactured rocks. Besides, their escort did them, why couldn't they?

 _Fucking Capitol trying to tell me how to fucking live my life_. Harvey thought as he rocked back and forth in his upside down seat. _Those assholes think they know what's best for me when they really don't._

Lighting up a death stick with his trembling hands, Harvey inhaled a lungful of smoke and thought of how messed up the Capitol was. _They say they want what's best for us, but then they take away our medication and say that our health is top priority. What a laugh._

And it's not like he'd look any better in a few days if he stopped anyway. Crocked and yellow teeth, thick eyebrows that he been picked apart, translucent brown skin, those weren't things that were just going to go away because of a simple drug habit and healthy eating.

Others were smoking as they were waiting for the gamemakers to welcome them into a private room one by one. Both tributes from Districts One, Two were sucking in smoke. The boys from Three, Six, and Twelve were doing the same, as well as the girl from Five. And then there was him and Zora. The rest of breathing in second hand.

 _They don't want what's best for us, they just want what's best for them._

* * *

She hated waiting.

It wasn't that she cared, but she didn't see why they had to go through the whole process of pre-game bullshit to get a simple thing done. If the aviators wanted twenty four kids to murder each other in the arena, then they should have just kidnapped twenty four kids, throw them into an arena, and let them fight. Instead, you get this whole ceremonial crap that only serves to inflate the Capitol's already over sized ego.

They wanted to show that they were in control. They wanted to show how rich and powerful they were compared to the poor and helpless districts. That's what they wanted to present. And to a great degree, they showed it.

But Zora knew better. They were actually sad, miserable creatures that were scared of them. Because her escort was scared of her and Harvey, she would never argue with her when she demanded that she had over her salted ice. It also helped that the escort had psychological problems that Zora could easily exploit.

It made waiting for the main event a little more bearable, but she was getting really tired of this facade the Capitol was putting on. Who cares about scores? Who cares about getting to know a tribute better? Did it really matter if their favorite colour was orange or blue? She could see the interviews now. The interviewer would ask about their family, friends, or some other generic question, and the tribute would answer. But it didn't really matter what they said, the Capitol wouldn't care if you were an only child, a loner, the oldest of six, were abused every day of your life, or had a perfectly healthy life. As far as she was concerned, the aviators would only either feel sorry for you, or not feel sorry for you at all.

And the scores. Tributes lie, so scores only serve to give arrogant tributes unneeded orgasms, make tributes think they're better than they really are, or have people that know nothing about survival tell them that they think their worthless. Pitiful.

And the chariots? What was that supposed to accomplish? Letting the audience know that a tribute is ugly or not? It sure seemed that way. Especially when her prep-team had forced make up on her so that she looked more like a woman than a mixture of both genders. They also tried to make her eyes, ears, and mouth look bigger while making her nose look smaller. And her short, bleach blonde hair had been styled to look more girly.

Zora couldn't help but scuff at that thought. This was the Hunger Games, a game of survival. Instead, the Capitol was playing if off as a beauty game. Who cares if your hot or not, the only thing that matters is that you live or die. Death doesn't care if you're good looking, retarded, are the youngest or oldest of the family, or if you have a disorder. The Capitol should take more lessons from death.

And if there was anything that Zora knew, it was death and violence. She had experienced both starting from an age of what was supposed to be of ignorance and innocence. Even in a shit hole district like Nine, she had started to mature faster than regular District Nine kids. Her parents saw it first hand when she killed the family dog for food and felt no remorse for it, only giving the reason of needing food to survive as an explanation.

Her family tried to explain how that was wrong, but Zora didn't care back then. She still didn't care, she did what she had to do.

And though her sister was scared of her, Rowan had told Zora how she wanted to be a little like her in some ways. In her own words, Rowan had said she was brave, tough, doesn't care what other people think. Zora told her twin that she should never wish to be like her. Zora had lived a life that few people experienced and even fewer felt. She didn't know one person like her, and the fact that she couldn't relate to other people troubled her.

The district medic had said that that one symptom should of been the opposite, but what did he know?

If anything, Zora wanted to be like her sister.

Still, she didn't dwell on that too much.

Sucking on her nicotine cylinder, looked at her competition and sized them up.

 **A/N: There's a reason these four were the last four. Mainly because they were the hardest for me to do.**

 **Anyway, you've gotten a brief look at each other the tributes, hope you liked it.**

 **Questions for those who are still reading this:**

 **1) Fav and least fav tribute?**

 **2) Which tribute(s) would you like to be with?**

 **3) Potential winners?**


	15. Private Sessions Part 1

**Capitol Private Training Room**

He couldn't believe it.

He couldn't believe that in addition to the private sessions, that he'd have to do extra work when scoring the tributes. He shook his head as he thought back to the instructions that President Booker had given him when the tributes had first been reaped. Not only did he have to watch the tributes when they got to the Capitol, but he'd also have to go through their files.

It was enough trouble to score tributes the regular way, but now there was so much more that he was going to have to go through. Now instead of just watching the tributes during their three training days and their private session, he needed to go back and review the district reports of each tribute. Their reapings. Interview the escorts on their thoughts of the tributes. And then put that information in with the training and private session.

Taking a deep breath, head gamemaker Servius Knight looked at his subordinates and saw them talking among themselves and shuffling papers around. All of them looked unhappy, and Servius knew of a few reasons for that.

Not only did they have to do all the extra work that he was dreading himself, but then they'd had to discuss their findings and opinions on the mindset of the tribute along with their physical abilities, both demonstrated and implicated. And not only that, but they were dealing with a bunch of teenagers that weren't even sane.

They had heard horror stories from the escorts, and they had came face to face with Splendor Blackwell not too long ago. That guy had made him and his gamemakers look foolish. If it were up to him he'd either give Splendor a score of one so that he looked bad to the Captiol, or give him a ten so that other tributes might try to murder him. But no, President Booker would of known if he had done that on purpose. He had the hope that Splendor would dig himself in a hole and not be able to dig himself out, and it was easy to see him doing just that. After all, the boy had taped ice packs to his head. And the only time he had shown up for training was the first day, and now. Career or not, hopefully the odds would be in his favor and not in Splendor's.

Taking the stack of manila folders, all containing pictures and district files on the tributes as well as paper to write on, the head gamemaker called in the first tribute, Splendor Blackwell of District One.

Splendor came in, and as expected, the ice packs tapped around his head were melting, making it look like he was sweating profusely. He couldn't seem to keep still, and that stupid, shit eating grin on his face was oh so present. He hated that smug look on the boy's face.

Despite the fact that he hated the youth, he still had a job to do, and he couldn't let his feelings interfere with it. Too much.

"Show us what you've g-" The Capitol man started, only to get interrupted by the hyperactive teenager.

"I thought you were never going to ask." He said with quickness before he drew out a large notebook and flipped it open. "Now, I only want your opinions on some things." He said, not taking his eyes off of the notebook as he scratched his head vigorously. "I mean, things don't seem to be working out, but I'm sure with a bit of tweaking, I can get things to be better. What do you guys think? What am I saying? I know that I can make things better!"

This was not what Servius had expected when they had said they'd be reaping mentally ill kids. He expected violent kids. Violent kids he could stand. Unstable? Well, these kids were unstable, just not in the ways that he had originally thought.

"The games boy!" He yelled, wanting to get things back on track quickly. "Do you have an-" He was then interrupted by words and rhymes.

He and his fellow gamemakers tried to stop Splendor, but all he did was shout over them. While Servius didn't hate poetry and stuff, he didn't want to hear it at the moment. Not when he had a job to do. An important one at that.

One minute of constant yacking from Splendor later, it was obvious that he'd spend the rest of the time going over the words in his stupid book. And he was right, Splendor went on and on for what seemed like hours, and when he finally stopped, Servius was all too glad to dismiss him, lying through his teeth when he said that it was good work.

"See, I knew they'd like it." Splendor said to himself as he exited the room. "And you foolishly doubted me."

When the doors shut, the gamemakers were all groaning.

"I don't hate his poetry." A gamemaker said. "But I do hate his voice."

"I can tell this is going to be a horrible session." Another gamemaker groaned as she, and several others, picked up their glass of twelve year scotch and downed their double shots.

Another thing that he and his juniors didn't like was that President Booker had limited their alcohol intake to two standard drinks when they normally drank so much more. And from Splendor alone, they would of needed all that alcohol they normally consumed.

"Thoughts anyone?" Servius sighed as he rubbed his head.

"It's just as his escort said," One gamemaker said. "He just keeps on going. Never stopping."

"I sure wouldn't want to be her right now." Another added. "Didn't she say that he never goes to sleep either? That he's up all night, talking to himself and stuff?"

"Not to mention that he doesn't stop to eat, drink, or shower. All he wants to do is his stupid writing and visits Radiance." _That would explain why he looks like he doesn't take care of himself._

"Why would he want to visit Radiance?"

"Crystal thinks that he likes her."

"You've got to be freaking kidding me."

"Okay, okay!" Servius shouted over the gossiping gamemakers. "Lets get real here. Lets just talk about this, write some notes, think of a score so that I can submit them to the president for approval so he doesn't think we're bias or unfair, and then I'll buy all of you the best beer, wine, and spirits I can find."

That seemed to lighten his followers moods, and he felt a little joy knowing that. This was going to be a rough year, but if he could get them to ride through this, then he probably wouldn't have to worry too much about having to get new gamemakers due to them not wanting to continue their line of work. He couldn't let one bad year discourage them. So he tried to make things easier on them.

Honestly, the earlier system had worked out fine for generations, why did President Booker suddenly decide that the old ways weren't good enough _? To be better effective, he said._ "Now, fighting, survival skills, that kind of stuff that he demonstrated here, and back in District One."

"According to his file from the academy, Splendour was an above average student. Not exceptional or anything, but better than normal. Then it says that he didn't attend the academy for nearly six months before he went back to training. And then his performance dropped and he was eventually kicked out for poor performances at the age of fifteen."

"Because of his mental issues."

"We also didn't see him do any survival stations. The only thing I remember doing was seeing him swinging a sword around wildly."

"Hey guys!" A gamemaker laughed. "Check out lower on his file. It says that he thought he could fly and levitate shit!"

"Oh my God, it's true!"

When his gamemakers were done giggling, Servius spoke once again.

"So we've got a washed out career who thinks he's got powers, who's hyperactive, and can't seem to concentrate on anything other than writing."

"I think that sums it up, sir."

"All right," He replied. "We'll make a score later. So," He said as he clapped his hands together. "Now that we know the drill, I hope this'll go by smoother."

Servius then called for the next tribute, and in came Radiance Dricer. And like her district partner, she was a mess. But while he looked unusually ecstatic, she looked unusually miserable.

Radiance yawned in her hand as Servius spoke to her. "Show us what you've learned."

"I learned I'm going to die." Radiance muttered.

"Got anything to show us?"

"No." Radiance replied before she sat down with her head hanging. _She's just as her escort described her._

"If you've got nothing to show, you can leave." Servius told her with as much politeness as he could.

"Thanks." Radiance sighed as she stood up and walked away. "I knew you didn't think much of me anyway."

Those that hadn't dranken their scotch yet had started drinking it. District One had just finished, and yet, the moral had already gone down. Servius hoped that not everyone were like those two. "Read the file and give me your thoughts."

"She's the opposite of Splendor. She sleeps too much and does nothing but lay in bed, crying. But like him, she doesn't eat or drink either."

"And she didn't even bother to touch a weapon or try to learn anything in these past three days."

"Not that that's saying much. The academy said that she was about average before she started to get worse, and worse, and worse. She went to the academy less and less until she stopped going all together at the age of fourteen."

"It's like she doesn't care about life at all."

"Sounds like an easy tribute to score." Servius said before calling in Thor Houghton of District Two.

Thor walked in and glared at the gamemakers.

"You want to see what I can do?" He shouted as he walked backwards towards the weapons. "You want to see what I can do? I'll show you what I can do!"

The teenager then grabbed a sword that he slung across his back, a couple of knifes he clipped onto his belt, a training dummy, and a can of paint. Servius couldn't see what the paint was for, but he was glad that he was actually going to see something.

He had seen Thor as an uncooperative kid, but it might be changing.

Thor walked towards the gamemakers before he was a fair distance away before dropping all his equipment. Except for the can of paint which he proceeded to huck at the gamemakers.

The gamemakers screamed in fright. Thor smiled. Paint spilled out of the tin cylinder. The invisible sheild caused the can and paint to rickoshea off of it. The cylinder can then hit Thor in the face with great impact, causing him to yell and fall to the floor as paint splashed onto the floor. As Servius called for the peacekeepers, Thor was screaming and cursing at them. "Bastards! You fucking cowards! Hiding behind your fucking shield! What! What! You scared of me? Are you scared of getting dirty?"

Thor stood up and lowered his hands from his face, reveling a left eye that was slowly turning black and swelling. The peacekeepers that had been called rushed over to Thor and proceeded to drag him out as he struggled against them. "What is this! The all powerful Capitol's afraid to face me! Have to call on your hired thugs to get me! Fucking cowards!"

And that was when Thor was hauled out of the room.

Servius sighed heavily as he rubbed between his eyes. And I actually thought something good was going to happen.

Paint was splattered all over the floor and the avoxes did their best to clean it up as quickly as possible with mops and water.

"If this were a normal year I'd of given him a one or something." Servius told them. "But thanks to our new president, we've got to examine the tributes deeper. So tell me, what's the dirt?"

"Thor was never popular with the career academy. He didn't like listening to his instructors, would skip classes, and bullied the other kids. He also had a hatred for peacekeepers, often clashing with them and was known for defiling property. He was kicked out of the academy at thirteen."

"You know, to be a bully to other careers, wouldn't that mean he has some skills at fighting?"

"Did you see him get his ass kicked by head peacekeeper Thorn?"

"Thorn is made of steel, I think we can excuse that."

"Well there's also a difference between bullying eight year olds and eighteen year olds. So which did he do?"

"It says he did all different ages."

"Must of been some dirty trick though, I never saw him go near the weapons during the past three days. He was more into the survival stations for some reason. Also arguing with other kids, but especially the instructors."

"His escort as well. He pushes her around and orders her to leave him and his district partner alone."

"Well that makes it difficult doesn't it." Servius said to them. "We haven't seen him fight, but he's apparently good at it if all of you are correct. He worked on survival skills. Is he any good?"

"Not very, but he's better than he was when he first started."

"Improvement." Servius noted. "All right. Something else to work with. Okay, we'll work out a score for him later." He then called in Terra Whitcomb.

Terra looked just as stoic as ever as she entered. "You may begin."

Terra then calmly walked over to the weapon selection and took hold of the first knife she could reach. She then walked over to a training dummy and lazily stuck the blade into it's chest. The girl then looked at the gamemaker and replied to them.

"I know how to fight."

Servius looked at the pitiful display of combat and wondered how that was supposed to show him that she knew how to fight. All it showed him was that she knew how to stick a knife in the right way. She was someone from District Two, shouldn't she be putting up a better display than that?

"Is there anything else you'd like to show us?" Servius asked, hoping that she would. Instead, all he got was Terra shrugging her shoulders.

"If you show us more, your score might be higher, maybe getting you more sponsors and giving you a better chance at living." Servius encouraged, wanting to see more. He knew that she was capable of more. After all, anyone could of done what she had just done.

Terra grabbed the handle of the knife and wiggled it around, causing it to deepen the dummy's wound by maybe slightly less than half an inch. Maybe. "You may go." The head gamemaker sighed before Terra left. "The files say?"

"Terra's still attending the academy, but is just barely scrapping through. She's their worst student, as they say. Is actively anti-social, and is basically nothing special."

"Except that she apparently freaks out and acts weird when she gets stressed."

"I'm surprised that she didn't do that when she got reaped. Most kids that get reaped are usually crying and stuff."

"Maybe she thinks she can win?"

"Not with the skills she has. Did you see what she did? My six year old child could do better than her. And did you even see her at any stations?"

"Yeah. She only came down the first day and now. Just like Splendor and Radiance."

"Well she's still good enough to not get kicked out of the academy."

"Barely."

"So," Servius sighed. "We've got an unskilled career, that knows little skill of anything. Is either arrogant or doesn't care. And freaks out when shit happens."

"I think that sums it up, sir."

"God damn it. We'll score her later, but who's next?" Servius then sighed as he called the next name. "Nick Sirga."

"I bet you all a round that he's going to lit a fire."

"I'm not taking that bet, we all know he's going to do it."

The burned boy came in and looked at the gamemakers before Servius said to him.

"You may begin."

Nick then went over to the survival supplies and grabbed a handful of moss, two sticks, and a slightly warped piece of flat wood. He then placed his supplies down, placed the two sticks together and held them together. He then held the sticks up as the bottoms touched the wood before he started to rub them together.

It took some time, and some of the gamemakers were beginning to think that he would fail to make a fire. But then a small tail of smoke started to trail out of the bottom of the sticks, and soon, it was smoking thicker and thicker trails. Nick then started to add the moss to the smoke pit, and soon, a small fire was going.

"How did I guess?" A gamemaker grumbled as Servius dismissed Nick and told the avoxes to put the fire out.

"Because that's mostly all he went to?" Another gamemaker said dryly.

"I was being sarcastic."

"So was I."

"Well anyone could see that he was going to do that." Another gamemaker cut in. "Just look at him and his file. Burn marks covering his body, smoker, arsonist, school skipper. Sounds like the perfect recipe for a criminal."

"He only got charged on fire related crimes."

"I know."

"Is there anything about him that isn't about fire?"

"He's an only child?" The gamemaker said slowly and unsurely.

"There's nothing."

"Guy obsessed with flames. Okay, we get it." Servius interrupted. "Everything goes hand in hand with what the escort told us. Let's move on before we all feel like dousing our brains with gas and lighting a match."

"So, low score, sir?"

"Low score." Servius confirmed. "Hasn't learned anything, and the only thing he's good at is won't help him in the arena except make him a target."

His fellow gamemakers agreed as he called in Dayta Casteel.

When Dayta came in, she walked into the middle of the room before she faced the gamemakers.

"Begin when ready." Servius told her before Dayta went to the weapon pile up and picked out four knives and sheaths. She then clipped two on both sides of her hips and held the other two in shoulder holsters.

The girl then walked over to a training dummy and drew a single knife out. She stabbed the dummy in the stomach before drawing a second knife to stab it in the left ribs, just below the armpit. Taking out a third blade, she stabbed it in the chest before drawing her fourth and final weapon, and finished it off by striking it square in the head.

That display caught the attention of several gamemakers, including Servius himself. Because after seeing the pitiful displays that had previously been viewed, someone that showed at least some combat competence was a welcoming sight.

Dayta turned to the gamemakers and started to explain herself.

"The first stab is to the stomach. Since tributes mainly go for the head or chest first, it'll surprise them. While they're continplatting on what just happened, I'll strike them at their ribs because it's an exposed area that'll deal a fair amount of damage. Next will be their chest, as it'll be vulnerable when they're covering their side and stomach. And finally, the finisher to the head will end them."

"Impressive." Servius told her. "You may go now." And so, Dayta did. But not before removing the knives from the dummy, placing them back on the table, perfectly aligned. Same with the sheaths as well.

"If this is the best we're going to get," Groaned one of the younger gamemakers. "Then I don't think I'm going to make it."

"Don't worry," Another said. "We're only got nine districts to go."

"Kill me now."

"Let's just get this over with soon so that we can get out of here." Servius advised, trying to get his subjects from losing all hope. "Review the files." All the gamemakers groaned as they started to read the files on the District Three girl.

"It says here that Dayta was one of the best students in the school that she was attending. She eventually stopped attending when she turned thirteen because she couldn't get along with the other kids and the teachers. They wouldn't do things her way, so I guess she just stopped trying and got frustrated with it."

"Perfectionist but not very social."

"I'd say it fits her job description of being a manager of the factory she works at."

"That factory must have very low standards if they'll leave a fifteen year old in change. No matter how well she preformed in school."

"Either way, its says she gets the job done and she does her job well. Most of the time."

"The other managers like her as well as the owner, but the workers, not so much."

"Reflects what we've seen her doing for the training days. She's mostly alone, but she went to almost every station, and even tried to fix things there."

"Pfft. Like a little girl could know better than the instructors."

"Actually, I think it was more of an organization issue."

"Okay, aside from the organization and things needing to be perfect for her, did she show any improvements through the duration of three days?" Servius asked.

"Yes. Before the three days, I don't think she could of done some of the survival stations that she had studied at."

"She's a quick learner, I'll give her that."

"Mediocre score." Servius declared. "She may of learned things, but she didn't give out an outstanding display."

"Fair."

Servius then called in Blue Villegas and hoped that the last two careers had something good to show him and his gamemakers. If those two couldn't perform something to catch their attention then his gamemakers were going to give up all hope. After all, a girl of fifteen years old had done better than four careers. With the best career lazily stabbing a knife in a training dummy.

The last career boy walked into the room, looking around like he was trying to find something important. Servius didn't know what Blue was looking for, but he hoped that Blue would demonstrate something worth while.

"Okay, show us what you can do." Servius told the boy.

"No." Blue answered harshly. Servius reeled back in shock.

"What do you mean no?" The head gamemaker asked, wondering what could cause the boy to behave like that.

"No as in no." Blue spat. "I can tell that you don't like me, so what does it matter what I do. I get a low score, it makes me look bad and I won't get any attention from anyone. Sponsors included. I get a high score, people are going to go after me. I get a medium score, it still makes me look bad because people are expecting something good because I'm from Four. So it doesn't really matter what I do, you're all just going to fuck with me anyway."

Servius couldn't believe what he was hearing. And from the looks of the other gamemakers, neither could they. Normally tributes were worried about their scores, and they would do anything to get the score they wanted. Blue was the opposite. He didn't care what his score was, because in his eyes, every score was a bad score.

"I'm going to tell you this Blue," Servius said. "We're not going to give you a score that you don't deserve."

"Why do I not believe you." Blue stated. "High, low, it doesn't matter. You all just want to get rid of me."

Then without permission, Blue left the room. None of the gamemakers tried to stop him.

Servius sighed heavily and ran a hand roughly through his hair.

"Did Ruby say anything about the way he acted?"

"Yeah," A gamemaker answered. "Weird. From what she gathered, he's delusional, he thinks that everyone's out to get him or something. Spying and stuff."

"I think she also said that he never wanted to leave his room either." Another gamemaker pointed out.

"That's not surprising, his files say that he never wanted to leave his home either. Didn't want to go to the academy or to work or anything. He has a general distrust of people it seems."

"Didn't eat, didn't drink, just stayed in by his lonely self."

"He's not much better off here. He only showed up for the first day and didn't do anything either."

"The careers fucking suck this year. Low score. Low scores on all of them."

"God damn President Booker. Won't let us drink, makes us do all this extra bullshit."

"Relax." Servius demanded. "Everyone, just relax. Take a breath and calm down. We can get through this."

"I thought tributes with mental disorders would at least be good at fighting. But oh no, instead, we get all these kids that don't even seem to know the meaning of fighting."

The junior gamemakers agreed with each other, and while Servius knew how they were feeling, they had to get through this, one way or another.

"Patience everyone." Servius insisted. "Patience. We'll find those psychopaths somewhere in this crowd."

The younger gamemakers grumbled negatively as Servius called in Marsha Trent, and hoped that the final career could give them something. Anything. Marsha didn't give him much hope though as he heard the gamemakers groaning and muttering something about the retarded girl. "Show us what you've got." Servius told the teen girl.

Marsha then held out her hands.

"I'fth ghat tehn fithngers." Marsha then pointed to her head. "Ah head." She then pointed to her eyes. "Thwo aies." To her nose. "Ah-"

"No." Servius sighed, wondering how she could not get what he had been trying to say. "I mean, what skills do you have. Do you have any skills you can show us?"

"Oooohhhh." Marsha said in understanding before she went over to the weapon selection and picked out a length of rope. "I'mf feery skilled wifh ropes." Marsha then tied a series of knots that went from basic to complicated. But it was not what Servius nor his fellow gamemakers were looking for, and soon, Marsha was dismissed when it was apparent that all she would be doing was tying different kinds of knots.

"She's been doing the same god damn thing for three days!" A gamemaker yelled out in frustration.

"I saw this coming!" Another shouted.

"Oh look at this," Another gamemaker said with extreme sarcasm. "She's at the academy, but she utterly sucks at everything except, you guessed it, knots and net weiving. Doesn't interact with people, and the only reason she's still in the academy is because of her parents."

"Says she's not interested in anything that doesn't have a rope in it."

"Same thing. And look here, her job is fishing, with a net."

"You know, I expected her to be selling the nets."

"That's her side job."

"So we've got a career that sucks at everything but net weaving, talks like a retard and acts like one too. So far, the only thing going for her is that she's the hottest tribute girl here."

"That honor would go to Radiance if she actually took the time to do some self care for herself."

As his gamemakers kept on talking with each other, Servius couldn't help but sigh and think about how they had only gone through one third of the tributes and things were all ready not looking good.

 _This is going to be a long day._

 **A/N: Dear lord, I didn't expect this to be as hard as it was. Okay, only two more chapters of this stuff before the interviews. Dear lord, the interviews.**

 **And why have I updated so slowly? I could say the army, but that's only 35% of the problem. Blame Fallout 4.**


	16. Private Sessions Part 2

**Capitol Private Training Room**

They were experiencing the worst part.

If there was a part that Servius despised in the pre-games, it was the private sessions. Even during normal years it wasn't very bearable, and the only cure for that was the alcohol that was supplied to him and his fellow gamemakers. Lots of it.

The reason was simple. Aside from the careers, every other tribute was deemed boring, and most of the time, they'd only show basic skills in the art of combat, otherwise they'd try to play up their survival skills. And like most gamemakers, Servius wasn't interested in the survival methods, only how well tributes could fight and put on a good show before they died.

On a normal year, Servius would of started to relax a little and let the sweet nectar of alcohol begin to take a hold of him and let things become a little more interesting. He really wished that could happen, but of course, he couldn't. He still had his double shot of alcohol, but he knew that he was going to need it later.

The head gamemaker sighed with frustration as he inspected his stack of manila folders. One third of them had been pushed aside, leaving the rest stacked directly in front of him. Servius felt as if those folders were taunting him, telling him of how much suffering he had to get through before the hard part was over and the less difficult parts were to come straight after. _Only eight more districts to go._ He thought somberly. _Only eight more, and it's done. I can do this. We can do this._

Rubbing his forehead, the aged gamemaker reluctantly called in the next tribute; Spark Gambel of District Five.

Spark walked into the room and Servius told him what he had told those previous to him.

"You may begin."

Spark then went over to a training dummy and started to beat it with his fists. He hit it hard and fast, but it looked like he wasn't using any techniques or anything, he was just hitting it at random. Still, considering what he and his juniors had suffered through, it was a real treat to actually see a tribute that was actually trying to get a good score. Someone that was actually somewhat competent.

Spark continued to hit the dummy with all his might for another twenty seconds or so before he stopped and held his knuckles with the opposite hands. Servius couldn't see why he was doing that, it's not like his fists got torn apart or he hit something that was actually really hard or something. Still, Servius felt that Spark had done somewhat good, considering that he had no technique. "You're dismissed." Servius told the boy before Spark exited the room. "Thoughts and opinions?"

"There's no style to his fighting, he's just swinging left and right as hard as he can." One gamemaker commented.

"Dayta might not of been good at fighting, but she had a style that worked." Another said.

"Not that the careers this year are any better. At least Spark showed us something instead of some other kind of bullshit."

"Maybe his athletic ability will make up for that. In his file it says that he doesn't have a job, so from looking at him, he uses his free time working out."

"He still goes to school. Average kid for the most part. Though it does say that he's apparently sensitive to what people say to him and he's cried in public more than once because of what someone's said to him."

"So we've got a kid that looks like he could fight anyone he wants in District Five, maybe win, and yet, he falls into a crying bitch when someone says a hurtful word to him?" Servius asked, wondering how someone who had the pysical structure like Spark could be so sensitive.

"Seems that way." The gamemaker answered. "And it would be a shame if he was reduced to a blubbering mess in the arena when he could potentially, seriously, hurt someone."

"Stations?" Servius asked, wondering what the boy did in the three days of training.

"Combat and some survival stations, sir."

"I'll give him the same kind of score as Dayta, mediocre. He can fight, but it wasn't anything outstanding."

The other gamemakers agreed with their supervisor before he called in the next tribute. Anna Leptick. Servius couldn't help but laugh at the name. _Who name's their kid that. They must of looked at her when she was born and thought that it would be a great joke._

The now shaved headed girl came into the room before Servius told her that she could begin.

"No." Anna declared boldly as she paced around.

"No?" Servius repeated, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. "What do-"

"No as in no," Anna interjected sharply before she pointed to each and every one of the gamemakers. "You people want to see me do something? Well I'm not giving you the satisfaction. I didn't get to choose to come here. I didn't choose to return to the state I'm in. And I certainly, most definitely, didn't choose to have my hair taken from me, so now that I finally have a choice in the matter, I just want to say." The girl then flashed her middle finger to all the gamemakers. Several of them gasped. "Fuck you! I don't care what you do to me in the arena or what kind of score you give me or whatever! I will survive!"

And with that, Anna ran out of the training room. Nobody stopped her as their mouths all hung open to one degree or another.

"Well..." A perplexed gamemaker said. "That was something."

"Indeed." The head gamemaker agreed, not expecting another tribute to act like that. It just wasn't something he was used to. Yet, several tributes had done things that most tributes wouldn't of dared done. It wasn't just surprising, it was shocking. "And unfortunately, as you all know, I can't take the easy route and give her a low score because of what she did. So everyone, consult the files."

"She continues to go to school, but it says that she's getting low grades because she can't concentrate enough and is disruptive to others." One gamemaker explained.

"It also says that nobody in the district will hire her, and that she earns money by fixing things for people." Another gamemaker chimed in.

"Hey, if I were them, I wouldn't trust her to fix my things either."

"I don't think they do anyway, after all, how many would trust someone that can't even get a job?"

"Its not just the workers that stay away from her, the other kids at her school apparently stay away from her as well."

"Well seeing at how rude she is, I can see why."

"So enough about home life," Servius interrupted the conversation, getting a sense of how the district viewed the girl. "What about her training here?"

"She seems to have a hard time learning things, and the only thing she really seemed interested in was the agility courses. The weapons, she went to them, but all she did was swing them around mostly."

"I'm going to give her a low score since she doesn't seem to of learned anything and gave us nothing to work with."

"Agreed."

With District Five out of the way, Servius called in Diesel Tarbeck from District Six.

Diesel didn't come in right away, but when he did, he came in slowly and cautiously. He didn't seem to be paying attention to what was in front of him. Instead, he seemed to look at things that were around him with unfocused eyes.

"You may begin." Servius instructed. Diesel did nothing. Instead, he continued to look around in a daze. He was muttering something, but Servius couldn't hear him. "Diesel," Servius sighed. "I said that you may begin."

"May begin." Diesel repeated. "May begin, may begin. May begin." The boy then rolled up his shirt sleeve before he bit down on his arm, hard. Hard enough that there was a muffled scream and blood ran down his arm. Several gamemakers gasped and a couple even screamed out as well. Servius called in a couple of peacekeepers and they quickly hauled Diesel out of the room.

After taking more than several moments to come back from their shock, one of them finally broke the tense silence.

"What was that about?"

"I don't know, but man, why'd he do that?"

"Because he's fucking crazy, that's why."

Servius himself didn't know what provoked Diesel to bite himself so hard that his teeth tore through his skin. Either way, it was a frightening experience to witness in front of him. There had been tributes in earlier years that had injured themselves accidentally, but never deliberately.

"Jesus." Servius said sharply. "Does anybody have an intel on him?"

"Yeah," A gamemaker said. "It says that he started to act weird when he turned thirteen. Started to believe that he was being haunted by screaming ghosts among other things."

"And that would lead him to injuring himself?"

"Not only that, but it says that he stopped going to school and stopped working. In fact, it said that he didn't even want to leave his home."

"So he believes he's being haunted by screaming ghosts, was unable to leave his home to go to work or school, and that somehow makes him prone to injure himself?"

"Looks like it, sir. It's the same here as well, you saw what he just did, and he didn't come down to train except for now and the first day."

"Low score, as expected." Servius sighed before he called in Lexus Marks.

The girl slowly walked in as she shook violently. When she was finally in front of the gamemakers, Servius instructed her to begin. It was then that he noticed that Lexus began to look everywhere nervously. The teenager was sweating heavily and her breathing was irregular.

The next thing Servius knew, Lexus was clutching her chest tightly before she fell on her butt. Servius took one look at her and saw that she had difficulty breathing and her face was flustered. Worried about Lexus, he immediately called in a couple of peacekeepers to get Lexus to the medical center. "Who would of thought that a tribute would have a heart attack?" Servius said, thinking of how a tribute might of died before they entered the arena.

"Sir, I don't think she was having a heart attack."

"What do you mean?" Servius asked curiously as he looked to the gamemaker.

"Well, her escort had said that during her goodbyes, she had experienced the same thing. The peacekeepers took her away, but her family had said that she was just experiencing panic."

"So what you're saying is that Lexus wasn't dying?" _But she was showing the signs of heart attack!_

"No sir." Servius then let out a large sigh of both frustration and relief. Frustration because yet another tribute session had gone wrong and he had freaked out over nothing. Relief because he didn't have to worry about a tribute dying pre-maturely before the game began. After all, how bad would it look if a tribute had died before their time?

"If she gets like that from something like this, then she has no chance in the arena. What else does our research say about her?"

"It says that she quit school at the age of twelve, and even then she had difficulty. Low grades and whatnot. Couldn't be around people for long either."

"Her work is also impacted." Another gamemaker chimed in. "She is only given simple tasks at her workplace. It's heavy work, but still easy tasks."

"It also says that she worries about everything it seems. Everything."

"I can't say that'll serve her well in any situation." Servius told his fellow gamemakers. "If you're constantly worrying about something so much that you cease to function, then you're as good as dead. I'm guessing that she hasn't been training either?"

"No sir, she just came down today and on the first day, forced."

"Well, I guess we know to give her a low score."

The gamemakers agreed and Servius called in Carver Greene.

They were halfway through, but to the head gamemaker, and to his co-workers as well, it felt much longer than it should have. Troublesome tributes, lack of alcohol, extra work for them now and after, he hoped that the years to come weren't as horrific as what he was experiencing at this very moment.

When Carver walked in, Servius seriously wanted Carver to show him and his fellow gamemakers something, because if there was anyone that looked like they could win the games, it was him. And he really wanted someone to pull something good off. Something, anything, he just wanted someone that could be worthy of a high score. Plus he had been down training everyday, right?

Carver looked at the gamemakers before Servius told him that he could begin.

The giant teen walked over to the barrel of axes, and pulled one out. From there, Carver swung the axe around with deadly efficiency. He effectively decapitated the training dummies and stuck them in vital areas. And his strength was so great that the axe buried itself deep into the dummies, nearly severing them in half at times.

Servius felt overwhelming joy in knowing that not all the tributes were lost causes, and that if anything, they were actually going to have a good show with Carver in it.

Normally, gamemakers wouldn't put on a show of favoritism, but after everything that he and his fellow gamemakers had to suffer through, Servius couldn't help but clap for Carver. His fellow gamemakers did the same. Carver smiled at them before he was instructed to leave the room before the avoxes started to clean up the ruined dummies.

"Finally," A gamemaker sighed with happyness. "I thought they were all going to be boring. At last, we found someone that can actually get shit done."

"He's getting a high score," Another gamemaker shouted. "I mean, do we seriously have to justify that?"

"I'm afraid so." The head gamemaker groaned, to which his juniors did as well. The thought of having to convince the president to give Carver a high score irritated him. Carver had shown skills that a career on a normal year would show, while every other tribute this year either did nothing, or showed very basic skills.

"He stopped going to school at the age of sixteen, gets fired a lot because he apparently lacks concentration. His escort also says that he drinks a lot. Big deal, I don't see anything wrong with him. He came down every single day and trained."

"I'm going to try and get the president to pass him a high score." Servius told his subordinates before he called in the next tribute from Seven. Ivy Marlowe.

Ivy yawned into her hand as she made her way to center of the room before she faced the gamemakers. "You may begin."

Ivy then walked over to a selection of knives, picked a combat knife up, and walked over to a dummy stabbed it in the chest and face repeatedly. It was savage, but effective. And when she was done, she was instructed to leave. The avoxes soon began their work. "I think District Seven might be the top district of choice this year."

"Between her and Dayta, who would you go for?"

"I think I'll go with Dayta," A gamemaker replied. "She seems to know what's most effective."

"No," Countered another gamemaker. "I think Ivy's a better choice. Dayta will try and do her technique, but what if it fails? With Ivy, all she needs to do is stab stab stab."

"Dayta's fighting is more effective!"

"Only if it works!"

"Okay okay," The head gamemaker interrupted before the arguing escalated. "We'll find out who's better in the arena, but for now, focus. What do we have on Ivy?"

"Surprisingly, she's still attending school, with low grades of course. Works a simple job. There's nothing really outstanding about her in her files."

"But she's an alcoholic, like Carver, and she always looks ready to sleep." A gamemaker told him.

"Well she's still functioning, and she came down to training and actually trained."

"Which she did for how long before she couldn't seem to concentrate anymore?"

"She's still given more than most of the other tributes that have walked through this room today."

"I'll try to get her a mediocre score." Servius told them before he called in Stream Outgo from District Eight.

Steam didn't look pleased to be where he was, but Servius didn't care if he was glad to be here or not, all he wanted to see from Stream was something that he could use. If anything, he just wanted the boy to do something to keep him and his gamemakers awake, or at the very least, to get one more tribute out of the way before this entire thing ended He didn't even care that Stream wasn't standing where he was supposed to be. "Show us what you've got." The head gamemaker sighed.

"I've got some fucking words for you pieces of shit!" Stream yelled at them as he pointed to them. Servius didn't have a good feeling about this as Stream let loose a torrent of hostile words. "You think you know shit about fighting? Well you fucking don't! You cunts couldn't defend yourselves if your suck ass lives depended on it! So why should I place my fucking effort into some fucking, bullshit score that some cunts don't know shit about!" The young teen then threw his hands into the air. "Fuck this shit! I'm out of here!" Stream then stormed out of the room while loudly muttering hurtful things.

Though the gamemakers needed time to recover, they weren't buried in their shock for too long, thanks to the other incidents that had occurred earlier.

"If this were a normal year, I'd say that kid had a death wish." A gamemaker finally announced, cutting the silence.

"If this were a normal year," His college responded. "I'd say kill him early."

"Yeah," A third gamemaker shouted. "I mean, how dare he say that to us!"

"I know how you all feel," Servius told his gamemakers, equally as pissed off that a fourteen year old brat had talked to him and his co-workers that way. After all, in all his years as a gamemaker and his time as head gamemaker, no tribute had ever talked back to them. Not even those from the career districts. And now this year, tributes were refusing to cooperate with them, breaking the norms they were so used to. "But if we want to give him the score that he deserves, a low score, we have to justify it."

"Well aside from him being completely rude to us, he has serious self control issues. His escort said that he attacked her and the avoxes along with his own district partner. And in his district, he ain't much better. Forcefully expelled from his school at the age of ten for misconduct and multiple assaults against students and teachers alike, doing the same with people outside of his school, fired from multiple jobs, and even getting charged with the peacekeepers. If this doesn't say that his impulse control doesn't kill him, then I don't know what will."

"President Booker is going to want to know how well he fights and if he's got any other skills that he might of picked up here." Servius sighed.

"He only came down twice, now, and the first day. I don't think he learned anything here in the Capitol, but the files say that he's sent many to the medics due to his violence."

"I'll try to give him a low score, but the president might want to give him a mediocre score, if not a score higher than he deserves." Servius groaned, knowing that the president might see some potential in the boy because had managed to put people in the medical center.

Gamemakers groaned as he called in Paige Ingram.

Paige walked into the room, walked to where she was supposed to go, and looked at the gamemakers. "You may begin."

Paige then went towards the selection of knives, to which Servius and the other gamemakers sighed lightly. All the tributes that did show combat skills had used knives, the most common weapon of choice for tributes. A beginner weapon for the careers and the default weapon of every other tribute. _Can't they learn anything other than knives?_ Servius thought with irritation.

After a while, Paige finally picked out a knife she liked, walked over to a training dummy, and stabbed it multiple times. It wasn't a non-sense strike like Terra had done, it wasn't tactical like Dayta, and it wasn't savage like Ivy, her's was just plain old stabbing. And that, for Servius, was almost as disappointing as Terra's pitiful display.

When Paige was finished and placed down her knife, Servius dismissed her. "Thoughts?"

"In other years, she'd be a normal tribute, which is better than most this year." One gamemaker said.

"There's nothing special about her fighting though, it's just stab stab stab." Another gamemaker said.

"She went to other stations, mostly survival, so I'm surprised that she did something so basic."

"She probably couldn't do any of the survival techniques that she was taught."

"What does her file say?" Servius asked, wondering if there was something more to Paige.

"Turns out that she's known to peacekeepers, but unlike Stream, it's not for violence, it's for stealing. She's been convicted of stealing from several people."

"Funny," A gamemaker said. "I think her escort said that Stream got angry because Paige had stolen something. So it was Paige's fault."

While the gamemakers talked with one another, Servius noticed that one of the avoxes that was supposed to be cleaning up the mess Paige had made was trying to get their attention.

"Yes?" Servius said. "What is it?"

The avox then held up a sign that said that some knives were missing. "Are you sure?" He asked, wondering if the avox had just mis-counted. The avoxed nodded his head before Servius put two and two together and called the peacekeepers to catch Paige.

 **A/N: Again with this chapter, more dialogue than I am used to. Probably the worst chapter I have made in this story.**

 **Happy Holidays.**


	17. Private Sessions Part 3

**Capitol Private Training Room**

Freedom was so close, yet so far.

Servius noticed that the pressure was getting to his fellow gamemakers, and with the extra work that President Booker had given them, the uncooperative and not so skilled tributes, and the lack of alcohol was really hitting them. They were not used to the situation, and they weren't used to so many tributes acting out of line.

The head gamemaker had seen faces of the others. Currently, some looked like they'd rather be anywhere else, while the rest looked like they wanted it all to end. And by making it end, he noticed that they had a disturbing look in their eyes. One that was full of desperation and fear. He did not want them to carry through with what he thought those with those looks planned on doing to themselves.

"We're two thirds done," The head gamemaker tried to encourage. "Eight more tributes to go. Just a half hour more, at the most."

"That's far too long!" A gamemaker screamed with his hands tangled in his hair. "I feel like ripping out my own hair if I have to stay in this prison they call a tribute judgement any longer!" At that, several other gamemakers started to voice their agreement. And soon, all the gamemakers were complaining, and that was all Servius could hear. They bickered so loudly that he couldn't even hear his own thoughts. And while he totally agreed with them, he couldn't let them sway from their jobs.

If he did, the consequences would be severe, and as much as he didn't want his friends punished, he wanted it upon himself even less. Because even if one of them deserted, he would be to blame because it would seem as if he allowed it. He would be asked why he didn't stop them, and even if he answered that he did his best to stop it, President Booker would tell him that that wasn't good enough.

Servius had heard horror stories of how important people simply disappeared by orders of the president, and after they vanished, nobody would question where they went. That was the norm for every president. And with each ruler was their own unique twist in enforcing the rules and their own special kind of punishments when it came to both the Capitol and the districts.

President Booker was no President Delta, but thinking about those over sized teeth of his made Servius shudder. He didn't know how the president's daughters, or even Acely Vadess, could stand to be as close to that man for as long as they had to be around him.

"I hate to say this," A gamemaker said, standing from his seat. "But in the words of Stream Outgo; Fuck this shit, I'm out of here!" He then turned and started to walk away, and other gamemakers looked like they were going to follow his lead. Servius then knew that he had to do something, anything, to prevent that from happening.

Here goes nothing. He thought before he roared as loud as he could.

"Take a single step out of that fucking door and all of you will suffer the wrath of the president!"

"Why should we give a shit about that now?" A gamemaker asked, obviously not thinking about the punishments he could endure. "This is hell on earth."

"How about your families?" Servius answered sternly. "Or have you already forgotten what it was like to live under President Delta? And for all you know, Booker could be just like her, or worse. And even if he were just slightly better than her, would you really want to chance it?" It was then that the room became deadly silent. Nobody even dared to try and take a breath.

President Delta didn't punish the person that had done wrong, she had punished the people they cared most about. So if a parent got caught doing a crime, the parent wouldn't get punished, their kids would. And President Delta had her ways of keeping people in line.

There had been rumors that the punishments were carried out by loved ones being forced to hurt loved ones.

It was cruel, it was sadistic, but most of all, her method was effective. And though Booker had taken over as president, Delta's shadow still loomed in people's minds.

The gamemakers, after thinking a little, slowly returned to their seats. They did it reluctantly, but returned neither the less. Servius was glad that it had worked, and he once again, sat down in his seat as well. "I'm sorry that I had to say that my friends," Servius told them sincerely. "But we just don't know enough about our new president to take any chances."

Nobody said anything, and Servius called in the next tribute; Harvey Salvador of District Nine.

Harvey immediately ran in before he, without pause, ran for a training dummy and started to savagely beat it with his fists. He hit it over and over again before he lifted it up and slammed it onto the floor with a crash and finished it off by sinking his teeth into it's neck and ripping out the stuffing.

The gamemakers stoor, and Harvey spat out the white material with a wild look in his eyes.

"That's how you kill a bitch!" Harvey shouted at them before he ran out of the room.

The gamemakers were silent for a few more moments before Servius finally spoke up.

"I didn't say he could begin." He simply said. "But at least he can do something, which is more than some of the others."

"Indeed." Another gamemaker said. "He could definitely kill someone in the arena like that."

"That is, if he can get close to them first." Another gamemaker chimed in.

"He'll be on them before they even know something's up."

"Okay everyone," Servius said. "Consult the files and let's get this done as quickly as possible."

"What a surprise," A gamemaker said with heavy sarcasm. "Another school drop out."

"It says here that he lacks concentration and forces himself to stay awake all the time." Another gamemaker said. "I don't know why anyone would want to stay awake all the time, as it sucks."

"Yeah, having a good night's rest after a long day of hard work is the best thing ever."

"Says it started at the age of twelve. Since then, he's been a nuisance to the peacekeepers. Running away from home and disturbing the peace around the district by screaming at nothing and everything or some shit like that."

"Does the file say anything about him being violent?" Servius asked, thinking of the way Harvey had attacked the dummy.

"Says that got into fights with his parents, siblings, and other kids sometimes, but other than that, nothing."

"I'll try to get him a mediocre score." Servius said before he called in the next tribute; Zora Bitseed.

Zora walked in and faced the gamemakers before Servius told her that she could begin.

"Why should I take orders from you?" Zora asked harshly. "After all, do any of you know a thing about fighting?"

"Yes, we do." Servius answered, doing his best not to sound too pissed off. "Now if that's all you'd like to-"

"Oh really," Zora said boredly. "Because all I see in front of me are a bunch of fat fuckers who couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper bag if their useless lives depended on it."

"Hey!" A gamemaker shouted, standing on his feet as he pointed to Zora. "Remember who's in control here! We have all the power here girl!"

"Oh really?" Zora said like she was unimpressed as he looked at her nails. "Big talk from a pig hiding behind a desk that's out of my reach."

"I could kill you with the snap of my finger!" The gamemaker countered, and Servius was beginning to get irritated at the girl, and so were the other gamemakers. They were being talked back to by a teenage girl from District Nine. How many of these kids thought they could just talk back to the Capitol and get away with it?

"Yeah," Zora yawned. "Snap your finger and get your peacekeepers to kill me because you're too much of a pussy to do it yourself."

After all what Zora said to him, plus what he had to experience with the other tributes before her, the gamemaker finally lost it. He grabbed his glass, and with all his might, he smashed the end against the desk, creating a handheld weapon with several sharp edges.

Servius at that moment knew that that was the wrong choice to make, and tried to stop the gamemaker from going down and facing Zora, but his voice was drowned out by the encouragement of the other gamemakers.

Servius got up from his seat and attempted to grab his junior, but he wasn't quick enough, and soon enough, the gamemaker was on the ground floor and charging towards Zora, unprotected by the near invisible barrier that seperated the gamemakers from the tributes.

"Stop!" Servius shouted, but of course, it didn't change anything.

Servius shouted, the gamemakers demanded Zora's blood, the running gamemaker swung his weapon, Zora expertly slammed the charging gamemaker onto his chest, twisted his weapon arm painfully behind his back, and had his broken glass to his throat. That was when the room went silent in terror.

The gamemaker that had attempted to kill Zora was now so scared that he was shaking, crying, and couldn't make a sound. Servius expected the worst, and called in the peacekeepers.

"If you were a tribute," Zora hissed to him as she cut a red line across the gamemaker's throat. "You'd be dead." She then tossed away the cup as peacekeepers grabbed her and began to haul her away. "Give me a high score fellas!" She said with a smile. And then, she was gone.

Avoxes attended to the traumatized gamemaker as Servius and crew conducted their studies.

"She could of killed him!" A gamemaker screamed with rage. "I say we kill her when she's in the arena! Fuck what President Booker says, she has to die!"

"She doesn't care about the rules," A gamemaker shouted as he looked over Zora's file. "Her life goal is to break every single rule by the looks of this! She's defiant of authority figures, regularly gets into fights, and sent more than a few people to the medical center. It even says she severely burned a girl the day before the reapings! The world would be a better place without her!"

"I wish I could tell you all good news," The head gamemaker sighed. "But if Booker gets his way, Zora's going to have a high score, and he's going to blame all of you for encouraging the fight here to happen." Suddenly, all the gamemakers looked guilty.

"She started it." One gamemaker said meekly.

"What are you all, children?" Servius groaned before he collapsed back into his seat."Let's just... Let's just get this entire thing over with so we can drink and forget."

When the gamemaker that had attempted to kill Zora was back in his seat safely, Servius called in the next tribute. Falco Naylar of District Ten.

Falco walked in and Servius told him that he could begin.

Falco then walked over to the rack of spears, picked one up, and proceeded to thrust the pointed end of the weapon into the training dummies with ease. Servius and the other gamemakers were glad that yet, another tribute could use a weapon, but they had yet to calm down and were thinking that Falco might throw the spear at them next. Not that it would make a difference with the barrier between them.

Falco finished off the dummies before placing the spear back on the rack and facing the peacekeepers once again. "You may leave." The head gamemaker instructed, to which the teen made his exit.

"He shows promise," A gamemaker commented. "Which is more than I can say for others."

"It seems that either they're mediocre, or they're useless." Another sighed.

"Let's see what these files have to say about him." The gamemakers then looked at the papers. "He doesn't seem to be that bad."

"Yeah, other than attacking some people from time to time and accusing them of wanting to harm his family."

"Was there ever any evidence that those accused wanted to?"

"No."

"Dropped out of school to be a work at home boy. Okay then. School says that he couldn't concentrate very well."

"Huh. He seems almost normal."

"So, mediocre score then?" Servius asked. "He's good, but not that good."

"Yeah, let's give him that."

Servius then called in Falco's district partner; Mink Prather.

Mink came into the room, and Servius told her that she could begin.

"Begin what? Showing you people whether or not I can fight or not? I'm going to tell you, I can fight, and I'll show you in the arena." Sighed erupted from all the gamemakers. Not another defiant tribute.

"Yes, well," Servius said to her. "Scores can help you get sponsors and stuff to help you in the arena if you do well."

"What do I look like to you, a career?" Mink countered sharply. "You people only care about those that score high, which I'm not going to, even if I tried."

"You don't kno-" Servius started, but Mink interrupted him.

"And second of all, I'm not some pretty girl that's going to get attention because of that. I also don't look strong and capable, you all think I'm a joke. So here's the deal, give me a low score and that's that. Scores don't matter in the long run, all that matters is what you do in the arena." Mink then looked at the exit. "Can I go now?" Servius sighed then gestured her to get lost. She gladly did.

"Damn mentally challenged teenagers." Servius sighed. "Anyway, you all know the drill, what's with her?"

"She's boring," A gamemaker answered. "She's basically like Falco, but even more normal and dull. She just goes through life like anyone else would."

"She's defiant though," Another gamemaker said. "When she was down training, she didn't listen to the trainers and did her own thing."

"I'll try to get her a low score." Servius told them before he called in Trail Calloway.

Trail walked in and Servius didn't even wait for him to turn to him before he told the boy he could begin.

Trail sighed and walked over to the sword barrel and started to attack the dummies with the sword. They weren't graceful like a career would have been, but he was better than non-careers in normal years.

When Trail was done hacking at the dummy, he put the sword back in the barrel and looked at the gamemakers. Servius excused him and Trail quietly left. "Thoughts?"

"Not much to say about him," A gamemaker said. "He's someone that got left school because the teachers saw that he had trouble paying attention to anything and couldn't remember worth shit. And even out in the fields he doesn't fair much better."

"I guess the only reason he's good with that sword is because he works out in the fields, swinging stuff around." Another added. "The trainers had the same thoughts as his teachers. A lost cause when you tried to teach him something."

"I'll decide on whether it's a low or mediocre score." Servius told them before he called in Soya Boykin.

The girl came in and Servius quickly told her to begin, only for the girl to continue walking until she exited the room. None of the gamemakers even tried to stop her. "Saves us time anyway," The head gamemaker said before he asked for a report.

"I think we just witnessed something that that girl does when she gets nervous enough," A gamemaker told him. "She'll just continue to walk to where ever she wants to go to and she'll forget who she is or something."

"She won't last long in the arena." A second gamemaker noted.

"She did come down all the days and did seem to learn things though." A third gamemaker added.

"She'll probably get a low score when I report to the president." Servius told them before he called in the last male; Ryan Burnout.

Servius and the other gamemaker were getting relived that there were only two more tributes to judge before it was all over. As Ryan walked in, Servius noticed that Ryan was shaking slightly and looked at them nervously. "You may begin." Servius told him before Ryan slowly walked over to the knife table.

Ryan then picked one up, and stared at it longer than necessary. And just when Servius thought that all he was going to do was stare at the weapon, Ryan shouted out

"I can't do this!" And bolted out of the room. The gamemakers all groaned.

"I thought he was going to show us something," Moaned a gamemaker. "After all, he did pick a fight with other tributes before this, and his escort did say he was violent and easily provoked."

"His file says that his emotions are sudden, and can change without warning in mere minutes," A second gamemaker said. "Seconds even. And from what I saw earlier, I was expecting him to at least cuss us out like Stream had."

"Wouldn't of been surprising," A third gamemaker said. "It says here that he regularly gets into fights back in District Twelve and is reckless with his life."

"Violent and reckless," Servius noted. "He'll probably get a low score, but at least he might entertain us for a bit before his pre-mature death." And with that, Servius called in the last tribute for judgement; Ashton Meeker.

Ashton walked in with a sleepy look on her face, just like Ivy had before her. "You may begin." Servius told her, eager to get the private session done. But he was disappointed when Ashton looked like she hadn't heard him. Servius then, with some irritation, repeated himself, to which then Ashton went over to the knife table, picked out a knife, and stabbed a dummy.

At this point, Servius didn't even care about her pitiful display, he just wanted it to be done. As soon as Ashton stopped, which wasn't long, Servius gladly dismissed her. "Thoughts and files?"

"She's a girl that sleeps all the time, but still manages to go to school," A gamemaker told him. "But just barely."

"She didn't learn very well during the training days either." Another noted.

"Low score then." Servius told them before he sighed heavily with joy, now that judging the tributes were over. "Everyone, it's finally over," He said with a smile. "Now get out of here and have your well deserved drinks and relaxation."

The gamemakers cheered wildly as they felt as if they had just survived hell.

The regular gamemakers left with lots of joy, and the head gamemaker gathered all the files and notes they had made and started his journey up to the president's office to score the tributes. He was not looking forward to working with President Booker, and he hoped that he wouldn't have to repeat the charade again the following year.

 **A/N: Finally, this is done. I now have a new thing to fear, the interviews.**


	18. Scores

**Tribute Room #1**

For as long as she had thought, she had thought she had belonged where she was.

Even with the two tributes of opposite personalities that were undeniably crazy and nearly impossible to control, Crystal felt as if she belonged in the the place she currently was. If she had a choice to quit being the escort of District One at any cost, she wouldn't of accepted. Yes, even having to deal with the mentally unstable didn't make her want to quit.

It was hard, sure, but it wasn't so harsh that she wanted to quit her job. She loved her job, and when she finally got promoted to be the escort of District One, she couldn't have been more delighted. Her childhood dream had came true, and the only people that were more proud than herself were her parents.

Crystal sighed with delight as she reflected on her family and friends celebrating her promotion. There had been cheering and plenty of drinking, drug taking, and partying that day. The party had lasted nearly eighteen hours long. Crystal smiled at those memories. But she had only imagined it for a couple of seconds before Splendor's hysterical laughter shattered her concentration.

"You crack me up man," Splendor chuckled as he moved his legs from one position to another, unable to keep still for ten seconds or more. Once again, he was talking to someone that wasn't there, and it weirded her out.

The escort looked at her tributes once again, and thought of them and their district. The previous tributes she had escorted from District One were like them in looks. They had great physical features and were normally blonde haired and green eyed, though there were always those that were different. Like Splendor's teal eyes, there were also other kinds of features as well, blonde haired and green eyed were just the most common. Both tributes were light skinned as well.

But they also had mixtures of non-career districts. Both looked like they didn't care about their looks. Their hair was messy, they both smelt from not changing their clothes in days and not taking any showers either, and most of all, neither of them looked like they had slept in a long time as dark bags were under their eyes and were bloodshot.

To add to that, Splendor's hands were stained with ink and carbon while Radiance smelt of acrid cigarette smoke.

Radiance looked miserable and didn't want to do anything, while Splendor looked ecstatic and only did what he wanted to do. And the only reason either of the tributes were sitting on the couch with her was because they wanted to be here, nothing more, nothing less.

On the TV screen, the Capitol interviewer, Nobel Crest, and his assistant slash sister, Noel Crest, were giving some last minute thoughts on the tributes before they began to announce the scores.

"First off is District One," Nobel told the audience.

"Here it comes," Crystal told her tributes before Nobel announced Splendor's score. Splendor leaned in closer to the screen. Radiance remained still and seemingly uninterested.

"Splendor Blackwell with a score of, two!"

Crystal couldn't help but let her jaw drop as complete and utter shock came over her as Splendor jumped up and down as he cheered for himself. Crystal had never thought that a career would get a score that low. And even worse, it was on her watch.

"Yeah!" Splendor screamed as he danced with joy. "I'm number two! I'm number two!"

"That's not how it works!" Crystal snapped at him, angry that he wasn't taking the situation seriously. She was going to get laughed at for years because of this single event. And she expected Radiance to get the same treatment in scoring.

"Radiance Dricer," Nobel continued. "With a score of, one!"

Crystal didn't think things could of gotten any worse, but it did. Crystal couldn't remember any careers getting a one in the history of ever, and Radiance just got one. Crystal felt weak as Splendor cheered even louder before he grabbed Radiance by both hands and pulled her up to her feet before wrapped his arms around the girl's back, hugging her tightly before lifting her off her feet.

"Yeah!" Splendor shouted as he began to spin himself and Radiance around wildly. "Number one and number two tributes in the Capitol we are!"

Radiance didn't appreciate getting picked up and spun around, and the irritation on her face proved that. And if that wasn't enough, she shouted angrily at Splendor.

"Put me down! Now!" Of course, Splendor didn't.

Crystal could only stare at her tributes blankly as she wondered what the Capitol would think of her now. And how her tributes could act like they were currently acting.

 **Tribute Room #2**

Sabrina was not used to this.

She was used to being the one in charge and the one in control of her tributes, but Thor's defiance and Terra's lack of caring about anything made the tributes the opposite of what she was used to dealing with.

Sure the tributes from District Two were sometimes cocky and the such, but at least they respected her. They listened to her and did as she told them, but not these tributes. Thor actively pushed her around and ordered her around, while Terra wouldn't do anything to stop it. Sure Terra didn't encourage it, but she certainly didn't try to help either, and Sabrina wasn't sure which was worse.

Sabrina was chosen for District Two because the Capitol deemed that she could handle herself in the roughest district of careers, but she guessed the Capitol would never of guessed that her tributes would actually try to harm her.

The escort never felt so helpless in her life, and it didn't comfort her one bit.

Looking at her tributes, they might of had the District Two features, but both were weak looking and certainly weren't as good looking as she'd of liked them to be. Thor refused to shave, and Terra hadn't cleaned herself up for a while.

When she had first gotten promoted to District Two, her friends had asked her why she had accepted so readily. Most of them feared the districts of District Two, claiming that they were the most barbaric of the careers. Sabrina laughed it off, saying that District Two, while the most brutal of the careers, also claimed the most winners of any district. And that she'd be proud of be a part of the circle of winners. After all, having the bragging rights of escorting a victor was something that every escort wanted, and with District Two, it was her best chance to live in the limelight until the next year.

Sabrina had been living the high life with District Two, going to many parties and being able to be with her best friend, Crystal, more often than not. But this, this was not what she had in mind when she accepted the position.

"The District One tributes are quite sad this year." Noel said on the TV screen.

"Got that right," Thor laughed. "They're too soft, living in luxury all the time." Sabrina couldn't help but think that he was laughing at her as well, and she didn't like it.

"Quite." Nobel agreed before he started to read the scoring cards again. "And now for District Two. Thor Houghton, with a score of, five!" Sabrina would of laughed, because of all of Thor's arrogance, he was scored like a non-career tribute, but didn't because she knew what would of happened if she did. Thor didn't seem to mind however. "Terra Whitcomb, with a score of, three!"

"Yay." Terra lazily cheered before she took a drag of her cigarette. Sabrina hated that both her tributes smoked, as they were supposed to be healthy and fit. Instead, they were destroying themselves. She would of liked them even less if they were tributes that she actually liked. But for now, she'd have to deal with the humiliation of having her tributes, two tributes from the mightiest career district, score equally or less than non-career tributes during normal years.

 **Tribute Room #3**

Hermina looked at the fiery red flowers.

They had been a beautiful shade of red before Nick had set them on fire. They might not of been real, but Hermina was one to appreciate beauty when she saw it, and those flowers had been a sight for sore eyes after a long, hard day of coping with the antics of Nick and Dayta. And even with tributes from years before. Now it was gone, being reduced to ash as she couldn't help but stare.

"Umm..." Nick said quietly, looking guilty. "Sorry?" He said with a childish smile, like he had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. But to Hermina, it was much more serious than that. She had put up with everything that her tributes had done. She wanted to snap at Nick when her bed had caught fire, when he would set fire whenever he felt the need to and set off the smoke detectors, but she didn't. And each time it became harder and harder as the smoke alarm, or avoxes, woke her from her slumber, the only time of peace she seemed to get in days.

And then there was Dayta, she wanted everything to be perfect in her weird sense of things. It was hard to remember all her rules and regulations, and it hurt her brain just to try and remember them. And if they weren't just right, Dayta would have a fit.

If she wanted to remember her suffering for this year, all she needed to do was look at her tributes. Nick with his burnt body reminded her of the fires he had set, and the four ponytails Dayta wore reminded her of the girl's perfection. And even after they disappeared physically, the flashbacks would still haunt her.

She had wanted to see her tributes less and less with every passing moment. And now, things were coming to a boiling point. Hermina could feel her teeth pressing tightly against one another, her breathing was heavy, and her head was swimming with violent thoughts.

All of her suffering was affecting her, and all her built up anger was threatening to burst out all at once.

"Nick Sirga," Nobel said from the TV screen. "With a score of, two!"

Suddenly, Hermina felt a little better from hearing the low score that Nick had gotten. Nobody would bet on him, and nobody would want to sponsor him. He was dead in the water now that the world knew just how useless he was. A small smirk formed on the escort's mouth. "Dayta Casteel," Nobel continued. "With a score of, five!"

The escort's mood became happy enough that she was no longer going to lash out on her tributes. Instead, they were going to get justice in the arena. They were going to suffer just as much as she had.

"It's fine." She told Nick, thinking of how helpless he was going to be in the arena.

"Um..." Nick said as he used the flaming plants to light a cigarette. "Thanks?"

 **Tribute Room #4**

Fabia didn't want it to happen.

She didn't want her tributes to get scores lower than those that were residing in District Three, but she expected it. Both of those in One had tied or lost to the boy from Three, and the girl from Two had lost to the girl from Three while the boy had tied with her. Already the scorings were out of wack.

But then again, she should of expected that much since this game was not normal, and the tributes weren't normal in the least.

She didn't need to look around again to know that Blue was hiding in his room while Marsha was playing with a length of string. Fabia fully admitted to herself that Marsha could create things while playing cat's cradle, but she didn't see how that was going to help her girl in the arena. But then again, she deemed both of her tributes as goners. Blue she guessed was just going to hide until someone found and killed him, while Marsha would probably just play around until someone killed her as well.

Blue was a scardy cat that thought that everyone was after him when they really weren't, and Marsha was a retarded child that couldn't even speak right. So even at the start, Fabia never had had high hopes for those two. She thought that maybe Blue could of been the paranoid person that killed everyone that crossed his path, but she was doubting that more and more every day. And she had hoped that Marsha was one of those dumb kids that were actually super strong and didn't know that killing was wrong. But she, as with Blue, doubted that more and more every day.

As Marsha made a complex spiderweb with the string in her hands, the escort noted that the only thing that could help Marsha in the arena were her looks, but if her score wasn't up to snuff, then the sponsors wouldn't even look at her after that.

When she had accepted the position of being the escort of District Four, she remembered thinking that even though she was getting the least favorite career district, that a career district was still a career district. She didn't really see what the problem was when everyone wanted to be an escort of a couple of careers. They were winners, better than the non-careers that she had escorted for many years before she managed to climb the ladder high enough.

The two tributes with her now... Weren't the type she expected to escort this late in her career.

"Blue Villegas," Nobel announced. "With a score of, two!" Fabia expected as much. "Marsha Trent, with a score of, two!"

"Thaey!" Marsha cried out in joy, in which the escort had no idea why she would cheer over getting much a pitiful score. "An Crews thaught tat tie wouldn't thet ah shoor ier then ah uhn."

She thought that she could understand it, and if she was correct, then she had just said that someone thought that she wouldn't of scored higher than a one. Fabia could see why that person would think that, but a two was barely better.

"The careers are down on their performances this year," Noel said. "That's a great disappointment, I can't even think about how the escorts are feeling this year."

"Indeed," Nobel agreed readily. "All but one career scored lower than a four. I'm thinking that the districts will feel as if those six tributes have disgraced them."

That's exactly what I feel as well. Fabia thought. Disgraced.

When she had gotten promoted to District Four, she expected to be escorting winners, and she had in previous years. And even in her non-career district years. But this year, she wasn't going to have a winner. Instead, she was stuck with a loner boy, and a girl with the mind of a five year old.

 **Tribute Room #5**

She didn't know what to think.

To see Anna and Spark more excited than anything to see whatever their scores were, was something strange to her. Anna, was hyperactive and had been grumpier than ever to her since she had gotten a buzz cut for acting out, and Spark usually took offense to her telling him to take care of himself. Why they were so excited she did not know, and she questioned why.

The thing was, she had noticed that some of her illicit supplies had started to go missing, and she wondered if their excitement had anything to do with it. They shouldn't of been this happy, they were never that happy. And yet, both of them were bouncing up and down like they were on some kind of powerful stimulant.

It was her coping medicine, and something that she could take while partying to make the whole thing more entertaining than it already was. And the fact that those two kids were taking it made her wish that she could do more than just talk to them and demand to know if they had stolen her stash or not. Because of course, they denied it. And it was driving her crazy.

Not that those two hadn't already been driving her crazy before, but they were doing it even more so now.

They had been taking her sanity and patience before, but now they were taking one of her coping supplies. Aelia took another sip from her flask as both teenagers told each other that they were going to do fine, while the other said that they weren't sure.

"You're much more athletic," Anna encouraged Spark. "And look at you, you actually have muscles."

"But you have so much energy," Spark complimented. "You could probably fight way longer than I could."

"Nah, dude," Anna said with a wave of her hand. "And don't worry, if you tried, you'd get a higher score than me, easy."

"What did-" Spark started, but Anna interrupted him.

"I basically told the gamemakers to go fuck themselves." Anna answered, to which then Aelia choked on her drink before coughing out her alcohol. She then wondered if she had heard that right.

"Did you just say-" She started, but didn't finish.

"Yeah, I did," Anna confirmed. "They gave me the choice, and I choose to tell them to fuck themselves. And I don't regret a thing." The escort felt as if she was going to faint. The gamemakers would probably complain about her tributes, and she's be lowered down a district. Or worse, kicked out of her job entirely. "Oh look!" Anna screamed as she clapped her hands repeatedly. "It's starting!"

"District Five," Nobel announced. "Spark Gambel, a score of, four!"

"You beat the careers!" Anna exclaimed.

"I beat most of the careers!" Spark said excitedly before Nobel announced the next score. "Anna Leptick, a score of, two!"

"Yeah!" Anna screamed happily, to which the escort had no idea why she would be so glad to get such a horrible score. It was beyond her how their messed up minds worked. Anna then pointed a thumb towards herself. "Two for the defiance," she then pointed a finger towards Spark. "Four for the silence!" She then waved both arms up in the air. "We're going to cause a riooooooot!"

Aelia shook her head and sighed, not understanding what Anna was trying to say.

 **Tribute Room #6**

Alone.

Fulvia, the escort of District Six, was sitting on the couch, watching the scoring, all alone. It was different, and she felt weird watching it by herself. Normally there would be two tributes and two mentors around with her, all talking about the scoring and how it would or wouldn't affect them.

The tributes would be bummed out on their low scores, and act glad for their average scores, and act really joyful for their high scores if they got them. But she didn't have high hopes for her tributes. After all, how much hope can you have for two tributes that refused to go down to the training center and had to be forced down by peacekeepers on the first day? Not very much in her mind.

And her tributes were far from ideal.

Diesel was afraid of things that weren't there. He talked to things that weren't there, ran away from things only he could see, and destroyed everything that had a reflective surface. There were also the times that she had gotten scared out of her wits because Diesel, in the middle of the night, would be sitting in the middle of the living room, just starring. Not at her, but at whatever he was seeing. Vast majority of the time, he never even noticed her. And even before he was there, she could smell him. Stank of cigarette smoke and filthy body odor.

And Lexus was just plain afraid of everything. She didn't want to leave her room, and left as least as possible. Much like Diesel. In fact, she would always be surprised when she saw Lexus, willingly, out of her room. The moment never lasted long though, because Lexus would panic and run back to her room every time she was spotted by her.

All and all, Fulvia didn't know what the hell was wrong with her tributes. And most of all, why couldn't she of gotten someone decent? Diesel looked like those drug addicts that litter the streets, and Lexus, what was up with her huge upper body and small lower body?

What she would of given to be with the tributes of District One. Even if they were crazy, at least they'd be easy on the eyes.

But still, Fuliva accepted her predicament, and did her job the best she could.

She tried to get her duo out of their sheltered lives, but both of them had told her to go away and that they didn't want to be bothered, and Fulvia didn't feel like bothering the peacekeepers and telling them to drag her tributes out of their rooms so that they could witness their horrendous scores. So here she sat, alone, not for the first time this year.

Why the mentors weren't here this year she did not know

"District Six," Nobel said on the TV. "Diesel Tarbeck, a score of, one! Lexus Marks, a score of, one!" She, unfortunately, expected this much and didn't even let out a sigh.

"District Six is really sucking this year." Noel commented.

"I'm afraid so. Just what is happening with District Six this year?"

"Besides the obvious."

It almost seemed as if they were mocking her.

 **Tribute Room #7**

She was excited.

But she was nervous as well. All the scores so far had been low, even by non-career standards. So far, the highest score in the first six districts was a five, and that included the career districts. So much for the careers having an edge in the arena. And that's why Blandina was nervous.

All the other tributes before her's had bad scores, what was to stop them from getting those types of scores as well? After all, if even those from the career districts couldn't get more than a five, why should she expect her tributes to do any better?

But that's where she got excited. Because unlike the rest of them, she had an ace up her sleeve. Carver Green during normal years would probably match the careers, and that's why she was excited to see his score. Even if he didn't preform anything, there was a chance that he'd of scorn high just by showing up. A seven at least just from showing up from his size alone. And the gamemakers had to of noticed that he had humiliated a career during the training days.

Looking more man than boy and somehow being above six and a half feet tall and much more muscular than any of the other tributes in the game. And even though he had his flaws, and that he looked more adult than teenager, Blandina came to accept that she could possibly have a winner in her hands. Not only that, but it seemed that her two tributes were the most cooperative and least stressful tributes to have.

Even Ivy seemed to be more of a winner than some of the other tributes due to her actually trying. Even if her looks told everyone that she couldn't take proper care of herself if she were left alone.

Like Carver, both of them looked like they hadn't had a proper sleep in days, both had wild hair, and both reeked of alcohol. Still, the escort was willing to overlook those flaws if they continued to at least try and treat her like she was supposed to be treated and made her proud and brought her a winner.

Blandina smile as her two tributes as Nobel told the scores. "District Seven. Carver Greene, a score of, eight!"

Upon hearing that, the escort couldn't of felt more proud to be the escort of District Seven. So proud in fact, that she couldn't help but shout

"Yes!" And smile broadly. Carver let out a smile as well.

"Ivy Marlowe," Nobel continued. "A score of, four!" And though Blandina wasn't as proud for Ivy, she was still proud, because out of all the tributes previous to her, she had scored one of the highest ones."

"Oh my god!" the escort said as she covered her mouth and felt as if she was going to cry. "You guys are so awesome."

They had had a rough start together, but the Capitol woman soon learned to cooperate with her tributes and go a little easier on them. And if everything went her way, like she felt they were, things were going to end up great for her.

 **Tribute Room #8**

Stream was not with them.

Rufina would like to keep it that way until Stream died in the arena by picking on someone too big for him to bite. She didn't like him, she never liked him. He was always angry, always ready to hit someone at the drop of a hat, and it made her feel powerless, something that someone of Capitol status should never feel when up against someone that grew from the districts.

If that wasn't bad enough, she got shit from her fellow escorts by asking if babysitting a child was too much for her. She almost felt like exploding at them, because Stream was not your average fourteen year old. She could handle brats from the districts just fine, but Stream wasn't someone that she could scare.

Normal tributes already feared her from the simple fact that she was from the Capitol and she could make them dead in the arena. Stream didn't seem to have that fear. Her greatest strength was gone, and she was helpless against a teenage brat.

Paige, for some reason, tried to get Stream to come out of his room, but all Stream did was shout at her and tell her to go away. Rufina couldn't understand why Paige would want Stream close to her, but then again, she was crazy in her own way as well. Even though she was a pretty decent girl at times. But right now, Paige was kind of scaring her. Because as of the moment, Paige was playing with a combat knife that she claimed she had just 'found'.

Rufina didn't ask where, and she didn't really care so long as she didn't use it on her.

"District Eight," Nobel spoke. "Stream Outgo, score of, three!" The escort was glad that Stream wasn't here, otherwise things would of been disastrous. She gave a quick sigh of relief before Paige's score was announced. "Paige Ingram, score of, three!"

Paige just shrugged and continued to play with her knife.

Rufina didn't have a lot of hope for her tributes, and after seeing those scores, she still didn't. Not that she would miss them anyway.

 **Tribute Room #9**

"This is bullshit!" Harvey exclaimed as he kicked the table in front of him, making his escort, Juliana, jump from the couch. He was clearly more than just a little annoyed when Nobel announced that his score was a three.

"Should of tried harder." Zora replied smoothly as she lit up a cigarette. How she could act so calm and collected while also saying that was beyond Juliana's comprehension. Not only was Harvey currently high on crystal meth, but also in a bad mood, and those two things did not go well together.

She could claim that Zora was also high on narcotics as well, but the teen was hardly acting any different than she usually was. Even so, Zora in a normal mood scared her, because like Harvey, she was prone to violent outbursts, she had seen that when she had reaped the girl. And those eyes of her's, Juliana had never seen anything like them before. They looked empty, soulless.

Zora was also someone that could talk in a way that made the escort want to obey the girl. Somehow, the teenager was able to make the Capitol woman feel guilty, by bringing up emotions and somehow figured out her issues. How did Zora figure out that her escort had been a street kid who had been kicked out of her home at a young age? How did she know that she cared more for kids she escorted than she did trying to find a mate?

Juliana did not know how Zora had figured all that out, but Zora used it to her great advantage, and with the right words, Juliana was in the palm of her hands. She was terrified of Zora, and Zora never seemed to dwell on the fact that she was using her.

Juliana also feared Harvey. Ever since she first laid eyes on him she knew that there was something about him. The way he looked disturbed and how he would shout at things that weren't there, and how there were more injuries added to his features almost every day.

"Shut the fuck up bitch!" Harvey shouted as he turned to glare at Zora. Both tributes stared at each other, neither of them backing down or showing any sort of fear. Harvey with his enraged snarl, and Zora with her calm and vacant expression. "You think you're better than me?"

"If the score's anything to go by," Zora calmly said to him before smiling and pulling out a bag of clear white rocks. "A seven's better than a three. Now here," she said before she tossed the bag at Harvey, who caught it readily. "Have some salted ice. Must be feeling tired just about now."

Harvey growled at Zora a little before he tore open the bag and placed a single stone in a glass pipe before he began to smoke it.

Juliana, though she had been a street kid in the Capitol, and had done drugs when she had been homeless, had always done them alone. When attending parties, she was always somewhere that was calm and non-threatening. It was the reverse with Harvey and Zora, where the escort felt as if she was in constant danger. How those kids families could be around them she did not know. Or maybe they were street kids as well. She didn't know, she never asked.

Either way, she felt that she'd only feel better when those two were in the arena, and out of her life.

 **Tribute Room #10**

Falco was on the phone again.

And so was Mink. Both of them were furiously trying to contact the one person in their district that they knew had a telephone, the mayor. But the teenagers weren't having much luck, as they didn't even know how to really operate that sort of thing, and Luciana never did teach them how to use it. And for good reason. She knew that the tributes, and anyone else in the Capitol, was forbidden from calling anyone related to the tributes until the games were over. Exceptions were made for the interviewers that went to the districts to interview the families and friends during the final eight.

So all Luciana could hope for was that her tributes wouldn't figure out how the thing really worked. And from the arguing that the two of them were having, she could safely say to herself that they would never transmit a message to their district. Hell, the first time they tried to work it they kept on shouting at the dial tone. But then again, what did she expect from some back district that farms for a living?

There was a boy that was worried about his family, and a girl that didn't seem to give a damn about the consequences of her actions. Falco wasn't thinking about himself it seemed, to the escort, he wasn't living his own life, he was trying to make someone else's life better. Caring less for his own well being and caring more for his family than anything else.

And the girl, Mink, was a girl that didn't seem to be thinking about the past or the future. She was just plain living in the present. And while that might not seem like a bad thing, it was like nothing existed except for the minute, the second, that she was standing in. Whatever was in the past she said didn't matter, and that she'd take on the future when it happened.

And while they both wanted to go home, they had very different approaches to it. Falco seemed to be doing everything he could to get back home. He had gone down to the training center everyday. He cooperated with trainers to gain the most benefit he could, got along well with her as to gain sponsors, and even though he had gotten into that fight, Luciana could see that he was a good kid.

Mink on the other hand, not so much. Mink went down to the training center everyday, but she tended to try and do things her way instead of listening to the instructors. She disagreed with the way Luciana as to how to gain sponsors, and while a kind enough person, was rather rude.

All in all, not the worst tributes she ever had.

As Falco and Mink continued to fiddle with the phone, Nobel announced their scores.

"District Ten. Falco Naylar, a score of, six! Mink Prather, a score of two!" Honestly, she expected Falco to maybe score a seven or something.

"Okay," Luciana heard Mink say. "It's been one minute, it's my turn now."

"No way," Falco replied. "I've almost got it, give me another minute."

"You said that soooo many times now. Just give it." Mink then grabbed the phone handle and yanked it from Falco's hand, but his firm grip kept a hold on it.

Mink and Falco had a brief struggle before Falco held out one of his arms and kept Mink at bay. Mink tried to get around it, but then Falco gently flicked her with his other hand. Mink then reached out and slapped him across the face, hard. The escort flinched from seeing that.

Falco quickly recovered and started holding Mink back with his arm again, while Mink flailed her arms in front of her, trying to hit Falco, but he was out of reach. Mink tried again to go around him, but Falco then held her back by flailing his hands at her face as well. Mink backed up and got out of his reach, but still swung her hands at Falco at arm's length.

And before Luciana knew it, both of the tributes were holding their arms out in front of them and hitting each others arms with their heads turned away in the off chance one of them got through their pitiful defenses. In short, they were fighting like a couple of eight year old girls.

That's when Luciana began to laugh. The last few days there had been nothing but horror story after horror stories about the tributes of this year. Now she could say that her district was the best one this year because they actually, almost, seemed normal at the moment.

 **Tribute Room #11**

While Trail had gotten lost in imagining ways on how to get through Hunger Games without killing anyone, Soya said that she couldn't take the excitement and excused herself. That left Camella by herself, as she had tried to get Trail to join her, but he was lost in his own world at the moment.

The escort sighed before she watched the scores for the other tributes. She came to realize that her already low expectations for her tributes weren't all that bad, because almost all the other tributes were getting scores of five or below. Even if her tributes got a score that would of been considered average in normal games, it would of been a high score for this year. So when Carver Greene had gotten an eight, that could be considered a ten, or even an eleven in normal years.

What she would of given to be in Blandina's spot. She briefly considered wanting to be the escort of districts Nine and Ten as well, but she remembered some of the things that she had heard from Juliana and Luciana. That Zora and Harvey were very unstable tributes that send fear down Juliana's spine, while Falco and Mink could be extremely aggravating.

Blandina was stuck with a sure winner, while she was stuck with a boy that was unfocused, had a poor memory, and when wasn't unfocused, was too focused on something. So much so that he didn't seem to see or hear anything other than what he was working on. And there was the girl that didn't like to be nervous about anything. And for some reason, she would sometimes wander around, trying to get back to District Eleven while also having a new identity. And that's why all the doors and windows were locked.

Still, Camella felt that she had struck lucky with her tributes. They were annoying, sure. But at least her tributes were cooperative with her and had some smarts. The careers of the year were defiant, and one of them was a retard that couldn't speak properly. For once in her career, she was glad to be the escort of a non-career district. Not that some of the other tributes were much better.

"District Eleven." Nobel said on the TV screen. "Trail Calloway, a score of, five!" Not bad. Camella thought with a nod of her head, proud that one of her tributes had gotten a score that was considered to be high this year. "Soya Boykin, a score of, three!" Again, not bad.

Camella was satisfied with her tributes scores, feeling that she at least wouldn't be laughed at like the career escorts were going to be.

 **Tribute Room #12**

She couldn't comprehend it.

Why were those two together? She couldn't fathom why Ashton would want to be near Ryan. For starters, Ryan was someone with serious anger problems, and didn't he slap her before this? And didn't he want to hurt her some more after that? Why would someone want to stick around with someone like that?

And then there were his other emotions. They were serious, and unstable. Like memories, his moods came and went with no warning of the change. You were always walking on eggshells around him. And most of all about his emotional problems, was that he took things way out of proportion. He got so emotional over something so minor. He was way too sensitive about things. Why would you want to be around someone like that?

And his looks weren't much better than his personality. The ugliest person Valeriana had ever seen before, it was like his body was a mixture of twisted traits that God had picked at random and placed together with no care to what the outcome looked like.

So there was a violent, unstable, emotional wreck of a boy that wasn't even good looking. The escort found no redeeming traits in Ryan. Sure he had apologized to Ashton and she had accepted, but nothing was going to stop Ryan from hurting her again. Emotionally or physically. With words or fists.

She really felt sorry for Ashton. Whatever her disorder was, she just couldn't see that there were better people for her than Ryan. After all, she betted that because Ashton was light skinned with blonde hair and blue eyes, and while not the most beautiful girl ever, she had a line of boys back in Twelve that wanted to be with her. So why settle for something as low as Ryan?

Probably because it's a cliche from a story book. She thought as she looked back and saw Ryan and Ashton talking with each other at the table. They both looked happy. Probably something that they wouldn't be if they were going to see their scores. The escort turned down the TV so that it wouldn't make Ryan have a hissy fit and Ashton wouldn't get disappointed.

Ashton was a nice girl. A shy girl that didn't think she was worthy of attention, when in reality, she was. A girl that always wanted to go to sleep, and looked as if she hadn't slept for days for some reason. Always yawned like she was bored to tears. Had a hard time concentrating and the like. In short, a girl with low self-esteem that thought she was never going to be accepted by anyone.

But then along came Ryan, who gave her attention, and just like that, she was hooked.

Valeriana knew that the story books were fabricated bullshit and that she loved reading about them. But now that she had seen it up close and for real, she wanted to tell herself that it wasn't real. Because Ashton was not some pretty girl that needed a self confidence boast, and Ryan was not some misunderstood bad boy.

Ashton was too good for him, and Ryan was a nothing short of a miserable, over emotional, crazy, ugly teenager. If Valeriana could see it happening, and the contestants were fair, even if it was doomed from the start, she'd support them all the way. But she could not see it happening.

It wasn't like a Katniss and Peeta relationship, and even that ended in tragedy.

And while she was young, Valeriana didn't feel like a teenager. And that's what helped her separate herself and not become sympathetic towards her tributes. She had been taught at a young age to not get too attached to the Hunger Games participants, because chances were, they were going to disappear from existence all together. That was one of the major things that helped her get the escorting job in the first place.

"District Twelve." Nobel said, telling everyone the final scores for the final tributes. "Ryan Burnout, a score of, two! Ashton Meeker, a score of, two!"

Valeriana was glad that those two weren't here to hear their scores. Ryan would of freaked out and Ashton would of probably been really sad. Not that she really cared, both of them had caused her a lot of trouble, and again, she didn't get attached to her tributes.

 **A/N: What happens when I have too much free time on V-day and the day after? I get lots of stuff done.**

 **Interviews, up next. I really hope that I can get them done in two parts or something.**


	19. Interviews Part 1

**Capitol interview stage**

She wasn't scared.

Scarlet may of heard the horror stories that had been spreading around the Capitol, all of them revolving around the current tributes in one way or another. But if there was one thing that she had learned through her years of interviewing, it was not to believe those that thought they knew the people they were talking about, because it usually turns out that they're wrong. And even if they were right, she liked to learn about those that she was interviewing through her own means instead of rumors. Even if the tributes themselves were fabricating an angle that the prep-team, stylist, and mentors thought was best for them.

So in a way, the tributes weren't even being themselves, but a figure that would try to please the Capitol in their own special way. But even then there were facts that came from the tribute's mouth that told everyone about their lives back home that weren't part of the original plan. But even then it was only half the story, since they had to use it to their advantage, and that sometimes meant bending the truth a little.

That being said, she was nervous about the interviews, as she could usually pick up on the angle each tribute was going by and manage to make the audience at least some what invested in the tribute. But this year, the tributes were unlike anything she had done before. Sure there had been a couple that she had disliked and had been monsters in their own right, but she only had to deal with, at most, two per year. Currently, she was stressing over how she'd do with twenty four mentally challenged teenagers.

Still, the stage was her home, and the president, along with the head gamemaker, trusted her with the stage, and she wasn't going to let them down.

At forty years of age, but looking half that age with hair and nails as red as her name suggested, Scarlet was getting the audience in the mood for some tributes with some pre-interview works. With a wide smile and her bright teeth showing, Scarlet laughed with the audience after a joke she had just told.

Having done this preform for nearly a decade, she was no stranger to having to work with people in a show like business. Sure she wasn't the most experienced interviewer ever, nor was she even the greatest, but you didn't get into this position by being mediocre. So even though this year was going to be a challenge, she was going to take it in the face and show that she was up for it.

After the audience calmed down, she got into to mood to show off the main event of the night. Her interviewing the tributes.

"Okay everyone, settle down," she said as the last remnants of laughter died down. "Settle down. Now," she then raised her perfectly painted nails, that looked more like talons, high above her head. "Who wants to see some tributes!" She yelled in a cheery voice.

To her surprise, the audience cheer wasn't the roar that she was used to. Instead, it was a mixture of 'if we must's' and 'let's get this over with's' kinds of groans and the cheering that she was used to. "Oh come on," she shouted, the smile still plastered on her face, but disappointment was coursing through her body. "You all can do better than that! Now I say again! Who wants to see some tributes!"

This time, half the audience gave a half hearted cheer while the other half gave off a real cheer. She decided to try a different tactic to get the mood right. "Really guys? Really?" She said with disappointment and with hands on her hips. "You're not excited for them? Sure they might not be the tributes we're used to, but if they were the same every time, the games would get boring. These fine tributes, while not our ordinary flock of kids, will give us entertainment we haven't seen before. Now I say again, who wants to see some tributes?"

Again, half the audience cheered dully while the other half cheered for real. Scarlet then considered it close enough. "All right! That's what I like to hear." _Not really, half of them suck._ "Now for the moment you've all been waiting for all night! The interviews, staring yours truly, and the twenty four brave young boys and girls as our very special guests!"

"Oh yeah!" A female voice in the back stage shouted out in rage. "You sure make us know how to feel special!"

"You are special!" A male voice shouted back. "Special needed!"

"Oh ha ha!" The girl sarcastically laughed. "Very original! Is that the best you've got?"

"It's the best you can understand!"

"Okay, that's it!"

"Settle down!" A loud and authoritative voice barked out. "Now!"

"Fuck you!" Both combatants screamed before silence was heard.

Scarlet stood in silence for a moment, waiting for the situation to be perfectly safe before she continued, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

"And now for our first special guest,"

"But also the-"

"I'll shove you into that portal if you continue!" A different male's voice yelled out in rage.

"Biggest cry baby in-"

"That's it!"

Scarlet guessed that the peacekeepers would try to stop the tributes from doing... Whatever it was that they were doing off stage, and that she should continue on so that the audience at least wouldn't hear the fighting that would be going on.

"Radiance Dricer!" Scarlet shouted happily as she waved a hand in the direction that Radiance should be coming from. Instead, no District One girl came out. Seconds passed, and still no Radiance. "Radiance Dricer!" Scarlet repeated, thinking that the girl hadn't heard her in the middle of the fight.

"She's calling your fucking name tribute Dricer!" The authoritative voice told her roughly.

"I'm not going out there!" A girl yelled back.

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't want to!"

"Get your ass out there before I fucking make you!"

"Hey," A male voice said. "If she wants to blade herself then let her!"

"What did you just say?" A different man shouted angrily. "What in the fucking hell did you just say!"

"You heard me, Blackwell!"

"Your a real dick, you know that?" A girl shouted.

"Tell me something I haven't heard before!"

"I love you!" A boy and girl shouted at the same time.

"Tribute Blackwell, Houghton, and Leptick, settle the fuck down!"

"Fuck you!" All three voiced screamed simultaneously.

"Dricer! Get out on that stage immediately!"

"So I can humiliate myself! Go fuck yourself!" Radiance shouted.

Some more screaming and fighting occurred before head trainer Thorn came out on stage carrying a screaming and fighting Radiance over his shoulder. As some of the audience laughed, Scarlet couldn't help but think that that had never had this happen to her, though in previous years before her, tributes like this had appeared, so the professional in her didn't let her discomfort show as Radiance was shoved into the plush chair beside hers. By now, over a minute of interview time had disappeared, and Scarlet was desperate to make up for lost time.

"So, Radiance," Scarlet said in a calm and professional voice. "I know you're nervous about all this, but I want to assure you that I'm not going to bite."

Radiance, who was wearing a snow white dress with gold trim around it with her blonde hair done up in an elegant bun, looked like an angel. Her prep-team and stylist had done a great job making her look less sick in the body and made her eyes look less tired. But the way that the teenager girl glared at her made Scarlet think that there was a demon inside of her. And besides, she stank of cigarettes too.

"I highly doubt it." She told the interviewer as Thorn left the stage.

"Trust me, you're safe here." It earned Scarlet a scoff from the teenager. "So how are you feeling this evening?" Scarlet asked, wanting something from the girl.

"Angry." Radiance growled. "I hate it here, and I hate why I'm here."

If there was one thing that was rare, it was tributes saying things like this during the interview, since Scarlet knew that it would affect them in the arena. Radiance wasn't playing the game that she was supposed to. Tributes were supposed to tell lies that would be approved by the Capitol, and so far, Radiance was playing terribly. She had to find a way to get Radiance to recover from her poor play of words.

"You must really miss your family and friends." Scarlet said.

"My family doesn't miss me worth a damn," Radiance snarled. "As for my friends, I've only got one. And miss him for sure." Scarlet jumped at the opportunity immediately, knowing that this would hopefully bring Radiance some points and save the interview.

"Oh really? Why do you miss him and not your family?"

"He's the only one that understands me." She answered. "Unlike my stupid family."

"Maybe it'll help them understand if you tell them why you're like what you are."

"Like what?" Radiance glared.

"Ill?" Scarlet suggested, not wanting to use mentally challenged in her vocabulary around these tributes.

"Why I'm ill? Why? Why!" Radiance shouted. "There is no why! There never was a why! I woke up one day feeling bad and it only got worse from there!"

"So your only sick then?" Scarlet asked, wondering if she had just had something like a stomach ache or something. The rage in the teenager's eyes told her it was something more than that, and she quickly realized her mistake.

"Only? Only! Oh I'm sick all right! Sick of life and living and feeling this way constantly! And you know what? I'm sick of you!" Radiance screamed as she jabbed a finger at Scarlet, which caught the interviewer off guard before the buzzer rang, signally the end of the interview. "God damn finally." Radiance grumbled before she crossed the stage.

Scarlet felt herself mentally falling. Her first interview of the year had gone down the drain. She had failed to do her job well, and that wasn't good. Scarlet wondered if she'd lose her dream job, or worse.

She couldn't let something like this happen again with the other twenty three tributes. Scarlet then vowed to not make the next interviews as bad as this one went. Though knowing what she was dealing with, that was going to be tough.

"That was Radiance Dricer, everyone!" She said with false excitement. Few applauded before she called out the next tribute, and Splendor Blackwell was racing out before she had even finished saying his name. And in no time, he was sitting in the hot seat.

"Scarlet!" Splendor shouted loudly and quickly right before he grabbed her by both hands and started to shake them. "How are you? It's a pleasure to meet you, it really is. The way that you do interviews is really something let me tell you." Scarlet couldn't help but notice that Splendor was blinking rapidly and that he was moving quite a bit. And that his breath smelt of whiskey.

With a diamond studded suit with an equally flashy tie, Splendor looked like a mirror that had light shining off of it, and it made her worry that she'd need a pair of sunglasses.

His prep-team and stylist did the same thing that Radiance's team had done; made him look less tired and tidied him up some. His hair was styled and his clothes were neat."My sister really loves you and wishes that she could get a chance to meet you one day. Of course, I bet she'd really really jealous that I'm meeting you in person and am shaking your hands right now."

Splendor then let go of her hands before turning towards the camera closest to him. "Sorry Radiance, but I got here first!"

"Sister fucker!" A voice shouted from the back of the stage. Splendor turned to face the entrance that tributes walk out of for the start of interview before pointing a finger towards it.

"Shut the fuck up Thor before I fuck you up hard!"

"Faggot!"

"Behave yourself, Tribute Houghton!" Thorn demanded.

"Yeah Thor, behave yourself like a golden little boy and let the grown ups talk!" Splendor mocked.

"Nice way to lube up Thorn!" Thor countered before silence occurred for about two seconds before Splendor continued.

"I'm so sorry about that."

It's-" Scarlet started, wanting to at least ask Splendor a single question before Splendor interrupted her.

"I've got a girl friend you know. Just so all of you know who the real faggot is. My girl's name is Rarity, and she's the goldenest damn girl in the entire district. She came to me when I was in a less than pleasant state of mind, and she's stuck with me for this long, so yeah. She's gold. I'm sorry Rarity! I'll be back real soon! I'd be back sooner but for some reason I'm not able to fly and the fucking portals won't work."

"Uhh..." Scarlet simply replied, not knowing where to go with his last statement. She was utterly confused and didn't want to say something wrong, like she had done with Radiance.

Splendor then jumped on top of his chair before he started to speak again.

"Hey! Look at me academy and tell me how rusted I am now!" Splendor then laughed heavily.

"Why-" Scarlet started, but Splendor stopped laughing and turned to the interviewer, while still standing on the chair.

"Why was I rusted? The academy doesn't like sad people or happy people, that's why." Scarlet then saw something change in Splendor's eyes. His eyes had always been crazy, but now they looked like they were turning angry. Very, angry. "Well how the fuck do you think I'd feel after my best friend died! You killed him you fucks!" Splendor then jumped off the chair. "You killed him!" Splendor screamed before he kicked the chair he had been in, scaring Scarlet and making her jump. And then the buzzer rang. "Thanks for fucking listening."

Scarlet didn't know what to think. On one hand she was glad that it was over, but on the other hand, she hadn't said anything, and the interview had turned into a disaster anyway. The only thing they audience had learned was that Splendor had a sister, had a girl friend, had a dead best friend, and had been kicked out of his academy. But for the whys, nothing was learned.

Scarlet sighed, and called in the next tribute using a voice that showed that she was still in control.

Terra Whitcomb walked towards the interviewer, stopping short of the chair laying on its side and looking at it with bored emotions.

"It's not upside down." She said plainly before she moved it into the correct position.

"Though it should be!" Splendor's voice called out, but was ignored as Scarlet started the interview. "Along with the rest!"

"You're looking quite beautiful tonight Mrs. Whitcomb," Scarlet complimented the District Two girl. Her black dress matching her inky hair and contrasting nicely with her pale skin. Her stylist had also added in bright red lipstick to the girl's large lips, making her look like someone ready to go out for a fancy night of fun. _If only she didn't smell of cigarettes._

Terra's expression didn't change as she answered the question.

"It makes me look like clay." Scarlet laughed nervously at that, but held herself up enough to disguise the discomfort as genuine laughter.

"Well you know what they say," Scarlet said, trying to get the ball rolling in the right direction. "Beautiful and deadly are often winning combinations."

"I know you all think I'm clay because my score is a three." Terra continued in her stoic features.

"Even if that were true, what would make you think that?" Scarlet asked. "You're from the warrior district, surly you're just underestimating yourself."

"I'm not." Terra replied.

"Why's that?"

"Because I'm the worst."

"Oh come on Terra," Scarlet said with a comforting voice as she patted Terra on the shoulder. "I know that can't be true."

"Don't touch me." The teenager said with a neutral voice, but her eyebrows started to come together. Scarlet took the hint and withdrew her hand.

Silence came from the both of them before Scarlet cleared her throat and tried again.

"What does your family think of you coming here and participating in the Hunger Games?" Scarlet asked, wanting to get something to work with before the audience started to fall asleep on her.

"They're probably celebrating." Terra answered. "They always said that I should get solid and get out of the house."

"They must be very happy for you then."

"Happy that I'm away from them, yes." Scarlet gave off another nervous laugh as she wondered how Terra could be so calm and collected about what she was saying.

"Surly you can't mean that."

"I do." _What's with this girl?_ Scarlet thought as she quickly fired off another question.

"How do you feel about being here?"

"I got picked for a reason," Terra answered. "It wasn't a coincidence, I'm here for a reason."

"And what would that reason be?" Scarlet asked, curious to what this girl was thinking.

"Lieutenant." Terra answered.

"Excuse me?" Scarlet asked, wondering if she had heard the girl right.

"Lieutenant." Terra repeated. "It's why I was chosen."

"Okay..." Scarlet drawled, more confused than ever. "How do you know that that was why you were chosen?"

Terra then pointed to her chest.

"Feeling." She answered calmly before pointing to her head. "The voice of God or whoever the fuck is talking to me."

Scarlet was about to ask another question before the buzzer rang and Terra walked off the stage, still remaining as stone faced as ever. Scarlet didn't know what to think of that girl as she called in the next tribute, Thor Houghton.

Thor, who unlike the vast majority of tributes that Scarlet had interviewed, wore his interview outfit all wrong, and it seemed to be on purpose by the way that Thor seemed to thrive on how every Capitol audience members looked at him like he was crazy. His slate grey suit was messy and undone with the collar turned up, his pants were hanging down too low, his tie was undone completely and hung over his shoulders, and his dress shoes had black streaks across them like they had been dragged across the floor way too hard.

A stylist nightmare, and Scarlet wasn't all too surprised considering what she had seen during the chariot ceremony.

"Well well well," Thor said in a mocking tone when he came close to Scarlet. He placed a foot on his chair as he eyed the interviewer with a cocky smirk. "So you're the one that's supposed to ask me questions. How about I don't answer your questions, because unlike that sister fucker Splendor, I don't have any love for you."

"I'm warning you, Thor!" Splendor shouted out angrily from off stage. "Say one more thing-"

"And you'll do what?" Thor challenged. "Threaten me again! I'll take you on here and now!"

"That's against the rules," Scarlet told him before she got in trouble for not trying to stop a fight between two tributes. "Tributes aren't allowed to-"

"I break the rules for breakfast!" Thor declared as Splendor sprinted out from the other side of the stage and went for Thor. An enraged look in his face, one that the audience hadn't seen yet, and practically smashed himself into Thor, getting both tributes to the floor before they started to grapple with each other.

Scarlet tried to stop the boys from fighting, but the audience was cheering them on like children.

Each one of the boys were trying to dominate each other, and to an extent, they were both fighting like a couple of little kids on the street over a stolen toy. Their moves were clumsy, they were failing to get each other in a grapple hold, and they looked like they were just flailing at each other. But most of all, they seemed to be putting more effort into their insults than actually fighting.

That is, until Splendor landed a lucky punch into Thor's solar plexus, causing Thor to lose whatever air he had in his system, creating an opening for Splendor. The blonde boy used it to get to his feet and jump onto the unoccupied chair beside him.

Splendor looked down at his enemy from the top of the chair like he was a king sitting on his throne looking down at a slave who had disappointed him. Splendor then held out his right elbow and theatrically slapped it with his left palm.

"Meteorite strike!" Splendor screamed out before he jumped off the chair to elbow drop on Thor, only for Thor to roll out of the way, and Splendor's elbow to hit the stage floor, hard. The audience gave out a collective; Oh.

"In your face loser!" Thor laughed as he got to his feet before he attempted to kick Splendor between the legs, but Splendor caught the District Two boy's leg between his knees. Both boys then began to struggle with each other before the peacekeepers pulled them apart and dragged them off the stage.

"Wait!" Scarlet exclaimed, not knowing what else to do. "His interview isn't finished yet!"

"Screw you ginger," Thor shouted back. "You're a pebble in the grand scene of things anyway!"

That was when the buzzer rang ahead of schedule, and Scarlet wasn't sure what to make of these events. She did know one thing though, things were not going her way, and while she was used to it to a degree, having the stage seemingly, completely, out of her control was something that she wasn't used to.

Scarlet called in Dayta Casteel, who came in calmly enough, like a normal tribute, and Scarlet started to see potential in her. Scarlet smiled as Dayta grabbed the flipped chair and set it upright.

"I'm so sorry that that had to happen," Scarlet told Dayta as the teenage girl adjusted the chair. "Coming here for a simple interview should be easy."

"Yep." Dayta replied as she continued to adjust the chair. Dayta was eyeing up her chair along with the interviewer's chair, and Scarlet had no idea why she was making such a fuss about the chair's position. Wasn't it good enough to just pick it up and turn it right side up?

It seemed like she fussed over everything and everything needed to be even. Her four ponytails were lined up perfectly, and her electric blue dress had four white lightning bolts evenly placed across the fabric. "Yep. Yep. Yep."

"Speaking of easy, I bet living in the Capitol is easier on you than District Three is, am I right?"

"Not really." Dayta answered, checking the position of the chair for a third time.

"Really?" Scarlet asked eagerly, seeing an opening. "Why would that be?"

"Because I've got a system that I follow back home," Dayta told her, checking the chair for a fourth time before she was satisfied. "And everyone here," she said with venom as she sat down. "Doesn't want me to follow that system."

"I said I was sorry!" A voice called out.

"I know you did!" Dayta called back.

"It must be a tough system to follow." Scarlet advised, thinking of how some people were hard to please with the way they did things.

"It's not." Dayta said.

"Yes it is!" The voice that had called out returned. "I can't even eat with you around!"

"Shut up, Nick!"

"If the system is so hard," Scarlet said, thinking of how other people interpreted it. "Why do you follow it so religiously?"

"It's not hard!" Dayta spat. "And if I don't follow it, something bad will happen." That got Scarlet interested.

"Something bad will happen?" The interviewer asked curiously.

"Yes." Dayta answered. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

"And what will go wrong if you don't follow it?"

"I don't know!" Dayta cried out, throwing her hands into the air. "Maybe the house will burn down. Or someone will short circuit. Or maybe things will get lost. I might get sick or something!"

"All because you don't follow a system?" Scarlet asked, finding it hard to believe.

"Of course!" Dayta cried out. "I know it doesn't seem possible, and I know it's ridiculous, but when you have a feeling that's so intense that it feels as if you're body's going to explode if you don't do it, you do it."

"And what would that feeling be?" Scarlet asked.

"Anxiety." Dayta answered before the buzzer rang out. "Interviews should be four minutes," Dayta said as she got up from the chair. "Four is a superior number."

"Right." Scarlet drawled before she called in the next tribute.

"Oh no you don't!" Thorn shouted from off stage. "You're not taking that fucking thing with you!"

"But I need it!" Nick informed him, making Scarlet wonder what he was carrying.

"To what?" Thorn challenged. "To burn down the stage?"

"To calm myself down." Nick replied.

"Bullshit."

"Na ugh."

"Yea huh."

"Give me my lighter back then."

"How did you even get that damn candle lit?"

"I've got my ways."

Silence occurred before a scream of terror occurred out of no where. "Noooooo!" Nick screamed out in what sounded like pain and terror.

"Now get out there!" Thorn demanded. "Time's ticking."

"Noooooo!" Nick screamed before Scarlet saw Thorn carrying another tribute towards her. And to be completely honest, it was kind of funny seeing the large boy looking so scared over something so minor.

When Thorn shoved him into the chair, Scarlet noticed that Nick Sirga was holding a candle that had been recently snuff out as a thin trail of smoke came from the wick. And that wasn't the only smokey smell coming from Nick either.

"It's okay Nick," Scarlet told him, trying to comfort the disfigured kid. "You're safe here."

"Easy for you to say," Nick said anxiously as Thorn walked away. "My only source of comfort is gone."

"Just pretend the stage is on fire!" A female voice called out from the shadows. "Pretend that everyone else is on fire as well!"

"Shut your god damn mouth tribute Bitseed!" Thorn advised hostility. That comment from Zora sent shivers down Scarlet's spine before she resumed talking to Nick. It also didn't help that Nick outfit was a smoky grey suit with bright orange flames decorating it. The stylists had done a good job covering up most of the facial burns on Nick's face and neck, and they had even given him gloves to cover up the burns on his hands.

"You know that fire's dangerous, right."

"Of course I know!" Nick raged. "In case you haven't noticed, I've had first hand experience!" Scarlet then knew that she had hit a sore spot, and it shouldn't of surprised her, considering all the burns on Nick's body, but she was curious to why he continued to play with it.

"Then why are you so obsessed with having fire around you? Why did you need a lit candle with you?"

"It calms me down." Nick answered bitterly.

"How so?" Scarlet asked.

"When I set fires, it acts like anti-anxiety medication," Nick explained. "Because like my district partner, if I don't do what I need to do, I feel as if I'm going to explode." Scarlet then got the urge to ask a question that she had been pondering ever since she had seen Nick.

"Is that so? Well, in that case, did it ever get to you so badly that you decided to burn yourself?"

And that's when she saw her mistake. Hatred formed in Nick's eyes before he started to shout at her with hatred that equalized that in his eyes.

"You think I did this to myself on purpose?"

"I'm just wondering." Scarlet answered nervously.

"Well there's your answer!"

"What do your parents think about your condition?" Scarlet asked, putting out the first question that popped into her mind in a desperate attempt to steer the conversation into a better direction.

"I think they hate it even more than I do!" Nick raged, standing up so hard and fast that it knocked the chair he had been sitting in over. "You want to know why? Because they short circuited because of it you heartless bitch!" And with that being said, Nick stomped off to the other side of the stage, leaving Scarlet to feel like a failure before the buzzer rang pre-maturely.

"I'm sorry." Scarlet sighed before she called in the next tribute. But Marsha Trent didn't come towards her when her name was called, so Scarlet called her again.

"Tribute Trent," Thorn shouted. "Stop acting even more like a baby than you already fucking are and get a move on!"

"Nahow!" Marsha cried out like she was on pain.

"Yes tribute Trent, now!"

"Nahow!" Marsha cried out again, before she started to scream out like she was being tortured. Scarlet then saw Thorn, yet again, hauling out an uncooperative tribute towards her. Marsha was covering her ears with her palms as she flailed her body and legs around like an angry child before Thorn set the chair up right and shoved her in place.

"Fucking retard." Scarlet heard Thorn mutter as he walked away. Marsha covering her ears as she cried silently.

"It's okay, Marsha." Scarlet said, trying to comfort the girl, only for the girl to scream out again before she stood up and started to spin in a circle. Her ocean blue dress swirling around, the white streaks at the bottom of the dress moving around so that it looked like a moving body of water. "Marsha," Scarlet said gently. "It's okay. Calm down." She then gave Marsha a hand in support, only for Marsha to freak out even more.

"Gaht away!" Marsha screamed as she shoved the interviewer away. It caught Scarlet off guard and she fell straight to the floor. As some of the audience laughed and the others gasped out in surprise, Marsha screamed again before she ran off the stage and away from sight. That's when the audience continued to laugh and the buzzer rang early again.

"Well that could of gone better." Scarlet said to herself as she straightened out her dress, sat back on her chair, and called in the next tribute.

"I'm not going out there either!" A male voice called out.

"Yes you are tribute Villegas!" Thorn shouted.

"Make me!" Blue challenged.

"Okay." Thorn calmly replied before screams occurred and Blue was being carried out to the stage and shoved into the hot seat. His suit matching Marsha's dress in colour.

"Why so scared, Blue?" Scarlet asked, wondering what his deal was. "We're not going to bite you."

Blue glared at the interviewer, and Scarlet started to feel scared.

"Oh yes you are," he accused. "I've already been bitten in the ass by my family, my district, and I know that you all are spying on me, trying to find ways to cause me the most harm. You're all sharking me, so why wouldn't you bite me in the ass?"

"Why would I do that?" Scarlet asked.

"Because you can." Blue stated. "You ask us these questions to see if there's a new way that you can harm us or humiliate us. You all are no different from anyone else, only looking out for yourself and not caring who you hurt in the process."

"I'm here to help you." Scarlet reasoned, but Blue wasn't listening to her.

"I highly fucking doubt that." Blue then stood up. "I'm not humiliating myself any longer." He then pointed towards the audience. "And take those microscopic cameras out of my room!" He told them before he marched off the stage.

Scarlet couldn't help but wonder why all the tributes were so uncooperative. Sure this wasn't a normal year, but she'd of at least thought that more tributes would be within the realm of normality. So far, the only tributes that had cooperated with her were Terra and Dayta, and to an extent, Radiance and Splendor.

Scarlet wondered how much worse thing would get as she called in the next tribute.

And with that being said, Anna Leptick ran out to the stage and took a seat.

"Let's get this over with." Anna said as Scarlet looked at her up and down. The first thing that the interviewer noticed was that Anna had a new set of hair. A blonde wig with bright blonde hair cascading down her back. Her dress was black with yellow sparks occasionally shooting out like she was supposed to be short circuiting. And it didn't help that Anna was constantly fidgeting with her hands and feet while the smell of smoke drifted from her.

"Your hair," Scarlet started, wanting to complement Anna's new hair, but Anna spoke over her.

"I know, right?" Anna then swished her wig back and forth, showing off her new mane. "It's fabulous!" She sang before turning to a normal tone. "I've always wanted blonde hair, but my mom always told me not to dunk my head in bleach." Scarlet let out a nervous giggle, not knowing if Anna was being serious or not. "I didn't dunk my head in bleach, mom!" Anna called out. "It's generated hair!" She then ripped off the wig and showed the world her shaved head once again. "See? No worries!" Anna then quickly shoved the wig back on her head before slapping her face with her palm. "Damn. Why did I do that?"

"You still look pretty." Scarlet quickly told the girl, not wanting another scene so soon. And she did. Her prep-team had added some colour to his pale skin and had covered up a majority of the scabs that had covered her face.

"Thanks." Anna replied with a smile. "I hope she thinks so as well."

"Your mom?" Scarlet asked.

"My fiancee," Anna corrected. "Black and brown hair are a common sight in District Five, so I wonder how she feels about blondes."

"She?" Scarlet asked, learning her lesson about talkative people from Splendor. Anna wasn't such a motor mouth like he had been, but Anna seemed to be a hyperactive little girl who liked to talk. In short, Scarlet knew to keep her questions and answers short.

"Yeah," Anna glared. "You got a problem with that?"

"No." Scarlet answered, having interviewed people like Anna before.

"Good."

"How's living with-"

"Oh we drive each other crazy," Anna told her with a smile. "She tells me to calm down, I tell her that I'm bored a lot, she tells me I have to pay more attention to things and not go running off by myself lest I humiliate the both of us. I tell her that we need to go on an adventure instead of doing the same old mundane stuff every day, which she doesn't always like. But in the end, we get each other." Anna then let out a wide grin. "It also helps that I have a great imagination. I really helps in the bed room."

Scarlet didn't know how to proceed as Anna nudged her repeatedly with her shoulder, giving her a satisfied look in her eyes. "Eh? Eh?"

"Ugh..." Scarlet said unevenly.

"I mean, when you're awake and can't fall asleep, have a ton of energy, and want to feel as close to your partner as you can, what do you do?" Scarlet was pretty sure she knew the answer, and before she could stop the girl, Anna answered. "That's right, you dance like crazy and zap chain the neighbors together!" Scarlet didn't expect that answer as Anna began to laugh. Scarlet couldn't help but let out a giggle as well.

"I'm just kidding," Anna quickly laughed. "We have long passionate sex in which-"

"I don't think that's an appropriate-" Scarlet cut in before Anna let out a nervous chuckle.

"Oh... Right... Sorry. My mom and my fiancee did say that I need to learn to control my impulses." And then the buzzer sounded off. "FREEDOM!" Anna bellowed out with joy before she ran off the stage, cheering every step of the way.

 _What a weird girl._ Scarlet thought. _At least she was a cooperative tribute._

Scarlet hoped that Anna's tribute partner was as cooperative as her as Spark Gambel come onto the stage.

Spark looked at the audience nervously, hugging himself around the middle. His suit was a white suit with black tendril stripes going towards lightened bulbs that flashed across his shoulders and arms.

"Hey Spark," Scarlet said, wanting the boy to be as calm as possible as she interviewed him. "Looking good."

"You think so?" Spark asked gloomily. "I don't know."

"I do think so. The lights on your shoulders and arms really bring out the District Five in you." It was then that Spark seemed to deflate and slump down.

"Thanks." He sighed heavily. Scarlet honestly didn't know what she had done wrong.

"So uh... Spark. Tell us a little about yourself. You don't seem like an ordinary tribute from District Five."

"What gave that away?" Spark asked sarcastically. "That I was reaped for this quarter quell?"

"No," Scarlet quickly said, wanting to recover from that. "I meant that you're strong and muscular, something District Five doesn't always get."

"You also don't see a lot of neons either." Spark replied sadly.

"You're neon?" Anna shouted from the sidelines in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, I'm a neon," Spark sighed. "Surprising ain't it."

"Very." Anna and Scarlet said at the same time.

"I see," Scarlet said, understanding why he was that way instead of scrawny like Anna. "So that's why you're so healthy." That's when Spark started to laugh, and Scarlet didn't know why he was laughing, but she thought that that was a good thing, so she started to laugh along with him. That's when Spark suddenly stopped laughing and glared at her.

"What the fuck are you laughing about?" Spark growled. "You think that this is funny?"

"Uhhhh," Scarlet stalled, not knowing what to say. Unluckily, Spark talked for her.

"I'll show you something," Spark growled as he rolled up his sleeves and wiped off the makeup that had been applied to him. It revealed several veins and scars that were very noticeable now that the makeup had been removed. "Caused by dehydration and self hatred." Spark then showed her the palm of his hand. "There are calluses on this hand that won't go away." Spark then opened his mouth, removed some fake teeth, pointed to several front teeth on both jaws. Several of them were shorter than they were supposed to be. "Tooth and gum decay."

"Are you going to show them your-"

"Shut up, Anna!" Spark shouted without looking away from the interviewer, who was feeling discomfort from this sudden change of personality. "I see the way you're looking at me, Scarlet," Spark told her as he narrowed his eyes. Scarlet didn't know if she was giving a look or not, but she was honestly surprised at all the things that Spark had pointed out. His prep-team and the TV crew had done well to mask up those body symptoms. "You're disgusted with me. You think I'm ugly. And you're right, I am. Was then, am now. Just a different kind of ugly now. All because I wanted friends." Tears then started to leak from Spark's eyes.

"What?" Scarlet asked. It was the only thing she could think of saying before the buzzer rang. Spark then ran off the stage and all Scarlet could do was stare in silence. She had not been expecting that.

Normally interview cries would be from those that were either happily talking about something, or they were talking about missed loved ones. And even then they had a grip on themselves because the vast majority of the time, it was a part of the angle they were playing. Spark didn't have that kind of hold on himself when he had started to cry.

Scarlet knew that she couldn't express too much sympathy for him, as she was viewed as a professional interviewer, and she couldn't get too close with those she interviewed unless she wanted to be accused of favoritism. Still, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him, even if she didn't know what his deal was.

Scarlet called in the next tribute, but all she heard after she called Lexus Marks was a blood curdling scream, followed by another one, and another one from the opposite side of the stage, followed by silence.

"What in the hell's wrong with you two!" Thorn screamed.

"The ghosts!" A boy shouted out in terror. "The ghosts are trying to posses her!"

"I think she's having a heart attack!" Another boy cried out in equal amounts of terror.

"Oh my god, really?" Thorn shouted out in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

And for the next few minutes, the medics tried to calm down Lexus Marks and chased after Diesel Tarbeck. Diesel screamed for mercy from the ghosts that he thought were trying to steal his soul, and Lexus looked like she was dying. Scarlet could only see fragments of it while the audience saw none, but everyone heard the entire thing.

The audience laughed at their despair, Scarlet felt her job going down the tube.

 **A/N: It's been a year since this fic has started and we still haven't gotten to the arena. I'm sorry.**

 **Two months since I updated this fic? Probably because I don't like writing interviews.**

 **I've decided to add some slang into this fic as well. This is the first chapter that I'll add it in and will be revising previous chapters for the sole purpose of adding such slang. Will I be saying what the slang is? Maybe, but for now, I think that it'll be more fun for readers to guess what they mean.**


	20. Interviews Part 2

**Capitol interview stage**

Nobody could see her behind the certain.

That's what she wanted, as nobody should see her frustrated on the job. She knew that this was going to be a tough gig, and one that would be different from other interviews, but what she didn't expect was the kinds of thoughts that would run through her mind during said interviews.

The thought of losing her interviewing job and going back to being the assistant to the interviewer was something that she didn't even want to be reminded of. Unlike her, who at least tried to treat her assistants with dignity and fairness, she had experienced the cruel reality of what it was like to be an assistant to some people that thought they were in control of you during work hours.

Driven like a slave and forced to obey every command on a whim, she was treated like an avox, maybe even worse depending on others perspectives. Back breaking labor and all nighters of doing paper work because your boss was out drinking his face off was an easy inconvenience. One that Scarlet had became familiar with and used to. Other things, such as pleasure, were things that had become routine, but one that she had never gotten used to.

Her friends had always asked why she refused to commit to a relationship with a guy, and all she could think about was how the men in her life had treated her ever since she was a young teenager beginning her work as an assistant.

She kept quite about the secrets behind closed doors because she was scared of the retaliation that would come if she told anyone. Scarlet was a tough girl, but there was only so much that she could take before she questioned her satisfaction verses her safety. After all, even if one got punished and put away, they had friends in equally high positions, or maybe even higher positions. And even if they were a level or two below, they could still cause devastating damage to her reputation and image through lies and deception.

Rubbing her temples, Scarlet willed herself to calm down. She took several deep breaths before the shaking ceased and she felt a little less anxious.

Exhaling one last time, she told herself that she was never going to go back to that position again. She was getting through this interview, and she was going to show everyone what she was made of. She was half way through, and unlike the adults and some teenagers in the audience, she wouldn't need alcohol to get through the interviews.

If there was one thing that she thought she should be proud of, it was that she hadn't bitched about not being able to drink while interviewing the tributes. She had seen how her fellow co-workers had sympathized with the interviewers when they said they needed a drink part way through the interviews, but Scarlet found that she found the tributes too interesting to want to miss their words though a drunken state of mind.

Their way of living was interesting, and their lives were... Unique. After all, the only life she had known was paperwork and assisting, and she wondered what others had experienced in their lives and while the tributes were Capitol, they had experienced things she couldn't.

Scarlet smiled to herself one last time before she got back into her proper character and got ready to interview the rest of the tributes. I've got this. She told herself before she grabbed her microphone and went around the curtain to return to her seat, ready to take on the world. Again.

Scarlet walked gracefully across the stage as she addressed the audience upon return.

"And that ends our intermission!" She announced excitedly. "I hope you all enjoyed yourselves, because it's only going to get more exciting from here as we've still got twelve more tributes to go through!"

The audience then gave out a burst of applause, their joy enhanced by the alcohol they had consumed. Scarlet knew that the reason they were so happy wasn't because of the interviews the tributes had done, it was what they had done that made them so happy.

The fights, the insults, the tributes causing trouble, that was what the audience liked. And that's what they wanted to see more of. But as long as her ratings didn't fall too low, Scarlet told herself she shouldn't give a damn, because then at least she could keep her job. "That's what I like to hear!" She exclaimed gleefully, glad that the audience was at least in the right mood, even if not for the right reasons. "And now, here's a name you might recognize! Introducing, Ivy Marlowe, from District Seven!"

As the audience cheered for the victor's daughter, Ivy stumbled out onto the stage and haphazardly made her way to the guest chair. It looked like she was drunk with the way she was moving, and Scarlet worried that she'd have a drunken tribute on her hands. The stylist had tieded up her hair and made it straight and shiney while making Ivy look more awake while her skin looked less sunburnt and more tanned than anything else.

When Ivy finally made it to the seat, she collapsed onto it with a thud. Her back slide down the chair's back until her neck was near parallel to her arms on the arm rest. By then, her rustic coloured dress had ridden up her body somewhat, revealing more leg than the interviewer intended. Scarlet could sense some males in the audience wanting Ivy to slide further down so that more of her body could be revealed, as the fabric just barely covered her butt. Ivy didn't seem to notice though, as her eyes looked heavy and unfocused on her sunburnt face. Scarlet was only slightly surprised to see that her legs were a cream like colour. "So what are your thoughts of finally visiting the Capitol?" Scarlet asked, knowing where she wanted to begin. "Your father must have told you about his adventure here, and now finally, you could see if for yourself. Tell me, what do you think of it now that you've seen it with your own eyes?"

"It's g- G- Great," She yawned, not even bothering to cover her mouth. "My dad told me lots about this place, and it's a pleasure to finally come here as well and..." Ivy stopped mid-sentence. "Ummm..." She said with confusion, trying to find her words. Scarlet waiting a moment before Ivy started to speak again. "Experiencing what you have." Ivy finished.

"So this probably doesn't feel too far from home, does it?" Scarlet asked.

"Here I get alcohol," Ivy told her before she yawned again. Scarlet and the audience let out a quick laugh, and Scarlet felt that this interview was going to go along great. "At home I get alcohol and tranquilizers."

"Oh..." Scarlet said, not liking the way this was going. "What do your parents think about that?" She said, hoping that it was a joke.

"My dad doesn't mind," Ivy explained tiredly. "He and I drink and do drugs together to try and get rid of our problems as well as-" As Ivy spoke, Scarlet noticed a movement in the corner of her eye, and saw one of the gamemakers behind a curtain that was out of sight of the tributes and the audience, moving his hand against this throat in a slicing motion in a desperate matter. It surprised Scarlet as much as she agreed with him. She hadn't even known that he was behind there.

"What about the rest of your family?" Scarlet quickly interjected, not wanting Ivy to go any further.

"My mom doesn't like it, but she tries to take care of us. Ivy then lazily lift up her hands and air quoted "Tries." Before she put them down again. As for my three younger sisters, I haven't seem them in nearly six months."

"I am so sorry." Scarlet told her sincerely.

"No you're not." Ivy shot back at her. "If you were sorry, my dad wouldn't be suffering right now, and my family would be together." She was interrupted by the buzzer ringing, but Ivy kept on going. "You are all kindling to our family, and we can't recover because of what you've done to us!" Ivy shouted at last. That was when Thorn grabbed her roughly and started to carry her off the stage. "I wish my dad was never chosen!" Ivy screamed. "I wish he never won!" And that was the last Scarlet heard from Ivy.

Scarlet was used to things turning sideways now, she had come to expect that from her previous twelve interviews with this year's tributes, but she still felt sorry that she had brought up a sore subject for the young girl. The interviewer gave out a quick sigh before she called out the next tribute, Carver Greene. He was decked out in a white suit and tie that had vines imprinted into the fabric. And like his district partner, the stylist had made him appear less sleepy than he normally did.

Carver came out with a grin on his face, even if he did look as tired as his district partner did. And though he didn't appear drunk, like his district partner did, Scarlet could smell the alcohol that wafted around him. Was he so much of an alcoholic that he just permanently stunk of liquor? Much like how Radiance, Thor, Terra, Nick, Anna, and Diesel smelt of cigarettes?

Carver made his way to the open chair and sat down on it.

"Hello Carver," Scarlet said, beginning with pleasantries first. "How are you today?"

"Excellent, thank you." He told her with a smile. "I'd ask you the same thing, but you seem to be having trouble today."

"I've had worse." Scarlet told him, feeling thankful that he was a cooperative tribute. She just hoped that he wasn't going to turn sour on her, like nearly every other tribute.

"But this has to be a close second, doesn't it?" Carver asked curiously.

"Not even close." Scarlet answered with a smile, memories of a worse time flashing through her mind before she blinked and came back to the present. "So Carver, you must be really proud of yourself with your score of eight. After all, it's the highest of this year." Though that wasn't surprising to her. If the gamemakers felt and acted like she thought they did the gamemakers were plastered off their faces when Carver came to them. In normal years, the gamemakers might have given Carver a ten just by looking at him.

"I do," Carver answered proudly. "The gamemakers know a winner when they see one. Just know Scarlet, that when you, or when anyone else sponsors me, they'll be sponsoring a winner."

"You got that right," Scarlet said with a smile, hoping that the next segment of the interview went as smoothly as the interview had been going. "What do you think your family is thinking?"

"I might sound arrogant when I say this," Carver chuckled. "But I think they know that I'm going to return home."

"Can you tell us about them?" Scarlet asked, wanting to keep the ball rolling.

"Sure." Carver said joyfully. "Both my parents are still alive and I've got a younger brother and sister who I help take care of. None of them are as tall as I am, but then again, nobody is. It's kind of surprising as my dad is, like, six inches shorter than my mom and she's only six feet tall. Anyway, we all look in the lumber industry, chopping down trees and moving logs and the such. But before that, I was a water courier, running water to the workers and such."

"That explains how your so fit." Scarlet said.

"Exactly." Carver said. "And the others should take note of this, because back home, nobody messes with me or my family, so if you're like the elms back home who like to pick on those younger than yourself, just know that I won't be the same. The elms know not to mess with me, so take warning when we eventually meet in the arena."

"I think just seeing you for the first time sent them warnings." Scarlet stated before the buzzer rang. As Carver left the stage, Scarlet was thankful for at least one fully cooperative tribute that could pass off as just another tribute from another year. She didn't think she was ever going to complain about the normal tributes in years to come.

She then called up Paige Ingram from District Eight, and the girl came up wearing an elegant silver-blue dress that went to her ankles. She seemed to be having trouble walking on her heels as she made her way to the chair. "Hello, Paige," Scarlet greeted the pale blonde, who's hair appeared to shine. "I see you're trying to get used to high heels there. Though, if you're having that much trouble with them, I wonder why your stylist choose for you to wear them here."

Paige then seemed to smile nervously and give a brief laugh before she answered.

"Yeah. I know. Right?" She then gave another small, nervous laugh before she continued. "They must think that because I'm a string server that I must be used to wearing these types of things." Scarlet knew that this girl was nervous, probably for the reasons anyone else would be nervous up stage, so Scarlet was going to do her best to make her more comfortable.

"Paige, don't worry, we at the Capitol aren't going to judge you on how well you can walk in high heels. Only how you perform in the arena."

"If that were the case, why don't you just send us straight to the arena instead of this ceremonial bullshit!" A female voice from the back shouted out.

"Keep quiet tribute Bitseed!" Thorn hollered.

"Is it because you want to inflate your already overgrown egos with how oh so superior you are compared to us! Or do you all just like manhandling children the the wannabe pedophiles you all are!"

"Bitseed!" Thorn raged as Zora continued.

"I bet you all-" Zora's speech stopped short as she was suddenly cut off. Scarlet didn't know how, but Zora had ceased to talk.

"Hey!" Another voice shouted out. "Don't think you can just-" And just like Zora, his voice was suddenly cut off.

"Anyone else feel like getting duct taped?" Thorn asked, to which, silence occurred. "I didn't think so."

"Ummm..." Scarlet started, not knowing where to start from here. "So what do you do back in the district?"

"I sell clothes." Paige answered.

"Yeah!" Another male screamed out. "Clothes that people like my fami- Ugh-Oh."

"Outgo!" Thorn shouted. Scarlet swore that she heard Stream mutter out the word; Balls.

"Anyway..." Scarlet said awkwardly. "About your work..."

"Oh yes," Paige said like she just remembered the question. "My family sells clothes, sometimes we even sell to the Capitol."

"Oh really?" Scarlet said, impressed by Paige's family. "I might have seen a couple of your family's clothes then."

"Maybe." Paige said.

"Tell us about your family," Scarlet encouraged. "They seemed like very interesting people."

"My dad started out as a needle mouse," Paige explained. "He eventually managed to make it through school and learn enough to try and start his own business. And because of the quality of work he put into his work, he was able to establish a fine business. My mom eventually got hired by him to help him tailor clothes, and eventually, they had me, and they've been together ever since."

"And they don't find you and your... Umm..." Scarlet didn't know if she should tread that territory, but Paige beat her to it.

"Disorder," Paige said. "And no, it hasn't driven them apart if that's what you mean. And of course they know about it, but when it comes to what I do, what people don't know doesn't hurt them in that case, right?"

"Umm..." Scarlet started, but Paige continued.

"Of course, the guilt fills you up until I have to do something stupid and make right of my mistakes."

"You seem like a good woman, Paige." Scarlet told her.

"Too good if you ask me." Paige replied before the buzzer rang. Paige sighed before she got to her feet and awkwardly walked to the other side of the stage.

Scarlet knew that there weren't going to be too many tributes like Carver and Paige around, and she was getting ready for Paige's district partner, Stream Outgo, who she had heard was more of the tougher ones to handle. The interviewer steadied herself up before she called in the young tribute. To which then she was startled to see that he was being carried in by Thorn and wore duct tape around his mouth and had tied his hands and legs together with said material. Scarlet wondered if this was what Zora and that other guy looked like.

Stream wasn't struggling, but he looked angry, which Scarlet came to see as his default look. He wore a grey suit and tie, and the stylist had put an effort into covering up nearly half his acne, making him look much more presentable.

Thorn threw him into the guest chair, ripped off the tape from Stream's mouth, and casually walked off.

"Bastard." Stream spat out before he spat at Thorn.

"Shouldn't talk out of line, Outgo." Thorn replied calmly.

"I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but I don't think your baby dick is not nearly long enough for that!" All Thorn did was lazily wave at Stream, not affected by his insult at all.

"Stream," Scarlet said gently, not wanting to upset him even more. "Don't you care about getting home?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Stream asked in a surprisingly gentle tone. Or at least the gentlest Scarlet had ever heard him. "Of course I want to go home."

"Then why are you sabotaging your chances by acting like that?"

Stream sighed before he answered.

"It's in my nature apparently." He then looked at Scarlet, and she could see that, while he still looked angry, he looked tired as well. "I'm not always angry you know."

"What's it like living in District Eight for you?" Scarlet asked, glad to of caught Stream at a good time.

"Fucking horrible," he answered. "If everyone hated you and you couldn't even help support your struggling family, how do you think you'd feel?" Scarlet only managed to open her mouth before Stream interrupted her. "You wouldn't know, you're a fucking aviator. But I'll tell you all the generic things you want to know anyway. I'm Stream Outgo, fourteen years old, the youngest of six kids, my oldest brother and sister take care of the rest of us because our parents in a factory accident. I have no friends because I scared them all away." He then looked at Scarlet. "That about cover it?"

"Work?" Scarlet asked after a moment of silence.

"When I can, I'm a needle mouse." Stream explained. "That is, if anyone will hire me. Speaking of which. I've got something to say to my family." Stream then looked directly at the camera. "I'm sorry for everything I've put you guys through. Mom and dad could barely handle me, how you guys still put up with me I'll never know." That's when his buzzer went off and Thorn came back onto the stage, re-taped his mouth, and carried him off.

When Thorn crossed the stage again, Scarlet called out for the next tribute, Zora Bitseed of District Nine. And like Stream, Zora had duct tape stuck to her mouth and her hands and legs had them coiled around her.

Thorn dropped her on the chair before he ripped a slice of tape off her mouth. Zora sported a black suit top and tie mixed in with a black skirt, like the stylist couldn't decide whether to give Zora boy clothes or girl clothes, which in Scarlet's mind, was kind of rude.

Along with the new clothes, the stylist had made an effort to make Zora look a little bit more like a girl and had tried to make Zora's very thin lips look larger, like she actually had lips. And through the layer of purfume that the stylist had sprayed on her, Scarlet could still smell the stench of burning plastic coming from the girl.

"Some people just can't handle the truth." Zora stated in a matter of fact tone before she turned to Scarlet. "Just like how you wonder how we can be so fucked up in the head, because the so called 'normals' like yourself how someone could get this way. Whether it's by drugs, or a fucked up family environment or some bullshit like that."

Scarlet didn't want to admit it, but Zora's words were getting to her, because she did wonder how people could end up like that. Her friends always did say that those that did have disorders had it for a reason. Said that it was because the family didn't love them enough, or abused them, or that they had gotten fucked up on drugs and stuff like that. Bad parenting and the kids just couldn't control themselves. Either that or they were crying out for attention.

The older woman looked into the younger girl's vacant eyes, who she could now see had enlarged pupils, and wondered where the teenager was going with this. "The thing is, I became a bad girl because I felt like it. My family is normal. My mom and dad are still alive and none of my siblings are dead or have been reaped of have even thought of volunteering for this fucked up event you all love oh so much. My family didn't abuse me, the the drugs I take are purely for pleasure. My parents try their best to keep me on the straight path, but fail constantly while my sister is too kind for her own good."

"If your parents are so good and trying to keep you on the straight path," Scarlet said, feeling a little unnerved by the girl. "And because you do things because you feel like it, shouldn't you respect them and accept their wishes of them wanting you to live a good life?"

"Fuck them," Zora answered calmly, which surprised Scarlet immensely. If she had talked about her parents like that they would have punished her severely. "I don't care about them. And if I don't even care about my own blood, what makes you think that I care about any of these walking corpses?" Zora then smiled at her. It was a smile that contained no warmth, only malevolence. "And that's why," she said in a hushed tone, so that nobody but the two of them could hear. "I'm going to be the victor. But for extra reassurance, I'd like you to sponsor me, a rich little lady like yourself would make a good sponsor for me."

"Why should I sponsor you?" Scarlet asked, not wanting to let Zora hear how anxious she was, but Zora must of picked up on it, because she then began to hop up and down in her chair, causing the chair to nosily bounce towards her until she was invading her personal space.

"I'll fuck you," Zora bluntly informed her, to which Scarlet's eyes went wide in shock. She could not believe what she was hearing. "I know you don't like guys, I've seen how you look at them in the past, and you know you could use some human comfort." Scarlet was speechless, but Zora spoke for her. "Just sponsor me, and you can even say you managed to fuck a victor before they became a victor."

Scarlet had been practically petrified at this point, but she managed to gain enough strength to mutter;

"Leave." And luckily for her, the buzzer rang.

"I think I shall." Zora said with fake sweetness. "Think about it though sweet heart. Tribute room number nine." She then made a theatrical kissing sound and motion before Thorn yanked the girl away from her and taped her mouth shut again.

"Did she do anything to you?" Thorn growled as he looked at Zora's empty eyes with his glaring, and no less intimidating, eyes. Zora shot her a look, and while Scarlet didn't think Zora could do anything to her right now, she wondered what would happen to her if Zora did become victor, and from the attitude she was showing, it was one that came from people that had no regard for human life. It frightened her, so she answered with a simple;

"No."

"Good." Thorn said before he dragged Zora off the stage, which Scarlet was thankful for.

Scarlet took a few moments to calm herself down before she called in the next tribute. Harvey Salvador.

Harvey came out to the stage scratching his arm underneath the cream coloured suit and made his way to the guest seat. Scarlet noticed that, like Zora's eyes, they were enlarged, but unlike Zora's, they were darting every which way, like he couldn't focus on anything. And like his district partner, she could smell burning plastic coming from him.

"You seem nervous, Harvey." Scarlet started. Harvey turned his eyes towards her, and there they rested for several, uncomfortable moments before he started to speak.

"I'll only say what needs to be said," Harvey told her. "Anyone that fucks with me in the arena will get fucked over in the end. Like Zora said earlier, this ceremonial shit is just that, shit. The only thing that matters is what I do in the arena." And with his speech concluded, Harvey stood up and walked off the stage.

"Tribute Salvador!" Thorn screamed from across the stage. "Get your fucking ass back in that seat!" Harvey flipped him off as he strolled to the other side of the stage. "That little-" And in perfect timing that made the audience laugh, the sound of a pre-mature buzzer rang out, comically censoring Thorn's last word. Scarlet was at least thankful that the interview hadn't gone any worse as she called out the next tribute. Mink Prather of District Ten.

Mink casually walked to the chair in her blue dress with grass painted on the bottom parts of the dress, making it look like the grass was moving with the wind. Mink plopped onto the seat, leaned back, let her arms over stretch over the arm rests, and crossed her legs, making it look like she was the boss of the interview and not the actual interviewer. Frankly, Scarlet wondered if the stylist originally wanted Mink to go for the sweet little girl angle because of the dress and the way Mink looked like she was barely reaping age, but Scarlet came to expect the tributes defying their stylist's wishes and just rolled with it.

In fact, Scarlet was confident that the stylist wanted Mink to go the cute little girl route, as her curly hair was decorated with cute bows and hair clips.

"Feeling confident, Mink?" Scarlet asked.

"Why?" She asked back in a bored tone.

"Because of the way you're sitting," Scarlet answered. "It makes me think that you-"

"I'm sitting this way because it's comfortable." Mink interjected.

"But are you confident?" Scarlet asked.

"Oh let me see," the teenage girl said in a sarcastic tone. "I got a score of two, I'm short, I'm a girl, and nobody will want to sponsor me. Yeah, I'm feeling amazingly confident right now, thanks for asking."

"Oh I'm sure there's people that want to sponsor you." Scarlet encouraged, wanting Mink to be more cooperative, like nearly everyone in the second half of the interviews.

"Pedophiles." Mink answered without missing a beat. To which Scarlet could only reel back a little from how sudden and casual Mink had said that. She then knew that this was not a cooperative tribute, but she still had to try.

"Mink, do you miss your home?" She asked, wanting to change the subject and recover from that single word.

"Why should I?" She asked with a wave of her hand. "It's not my home."

"What do you mean?" Scarlet asked, confused to what she was saying.

"It's not my home," Mink said again. "It's Mink Prather's home." Scarlet didn't know what to say, and she just stayed silent, trying to process this information. Finally, she decided to say something.

"Aren't you Mink Prather?" she asked, attempting to wrap her head around this sudden bewilderment.

"No," Mink, or whoever this girl was, said. "I'm just a girl who happens to be called Mink Prather, looks like Mink Prather, and has the same parents and friends as Mink Prather." Scarlet became even more puzzled.

"So you are Mink Prather?" Scarlet asked, completely lost at this point.

"No." the teenager stated.

Silence then engulfed the two of them, and Scarlet needed to say something until the timer rang out. It wasn't good if an interviewer stayed silent for too long.

"Aren't you worried?" Scarlet quizzed. "I mean... You, as in, YOU are going into the arena. Doesn't that scare you?"

"Why should it?" Mink said nonchalantly. "It's not my life to lose. And whatever happens before, or during, or after the arena, if future Mink's problem." And before Scarlet could press further, the buzzer went off, and Mink got off the chair and went for the other side of the stage.

Falco Naylar from District Ten. It turned out that Falco had also received the restraint treatment from the peacekeeper and had to be carried out to the stage as well. Falco was wearing a light brown suit and tie with matching pants.

Thorn placed Falco on the guest chair before he ripped the tape from his mouth.

"That hurt you know." Falco commented before Thorn simply rolled his eyes and walked off stage. "What a fucking asshole," Falco stated as he looked at Thorn. "What he does to women, thinking he can ride them all-"

"We're not here to talk about him," Scarlet interrupted the young man's rant. "We're here to talk about you."

"Right," Falco said, then turning to the interviewer. "Well I hope he never shows up in District Ten."

"I don't he will," Scarlet said, trying to comfort the teenager.

"Hope not."

"Tell me, Falco, if Thorn wasn't here, would things be better?"

"Much," Falco answered. "It'd be even better if I could figure out how to get that damn phone to work."

"The... Phone?" Scarlet asked, curious to know what the boy was talking about.

"Yeah, the phone. Mink and I have been trying to get it to work for days now, but all it does it buzz in your ear and make noises when you try to make it work.

The audience gave out a laugh, thinking of how stupid Falco sounded since he and Mink couldn't figure out how to work the device, but Scarlet wasn't surprised, she had heard that only victors and the mayors of the districts get such electronics. Falco and Mink had probably never seen a phone before, and from what she could gather from Falco saying that the two of them had been trying to work it for days told her that they were determined tributes.

"What have you two been trying to use it for?" Scarlet asked, seeing a good opportunity with this conversation.

"Trying to call home." Falco answered. "Why else would I try and use that damn contraption?"

"Do you miss them?" Scarlet asked, wanting to keep the ball rolling.

"More than anything," Falco answered. "But more than that, I need to make sure that everyone is okay, especially my sister, Hilly. See Scarlet, I'd like to hope that my two other brothers are taking care of her, but man, oh man, are they blind sometimes. I mean, I'm the only one that seems to see the danger that follows her."

"So you're, like, her guardian or something?"

"You could say that."

"So I guess because of that, you're used to fighting, am I correct?"

"Yeah." Falco sighed. "And I guess that gives me one advantage in the arena. I mean, I'm not scared of fighting people who are bigger and older than I am, and my score of six should show that I can fight at least decently well."

"I'm sure there are people in the Capitol that are looking forward to seeing you in the arena." That was when Falco's face turned stern.

"I'm sure they are Scarlet," he said with an edge in his voice. "I'm sure they are." That was when the buzzer rang and Thorn placed a strip of tape over Falco's mouth and hauled him off the stage. Scarlet felt bad for her last statement as she called in the next District Ten boy, Scarlet sighed, wanting to know if these three were just the beginning of a string of uncooperative tributes before she called in the next tribute, Soya Boykin of District Eleven.

Soya walked out on stage with a forest green dress with pink flowers attached to the hem of the long skirt, making it look like she had just ran through a flower field.

As the teenager took her seat, Scarlet noticed that she was looking around nervously, like she wanted to be anywhere else but there. Scarlet hoped that the girl wouldn't pull off a Lexus.

"Hello, Soya," Scarlet said in a calm tone that she hoped could equal to not sounding too concerned but also not sounding too motherly either, but a good mix of both. "There's nothing to be afraid of, just need to answer a few questions while you're here."

"Okay." Soya replied nervously before she took a breath and Scarlet decided to go down the gentle route.

"So tell us a little about yourself, Syoa."

"I'm Soya Boykin," Soya told her. "Age seventeen. I'm from District Eleven and do harvesting most of the time. I have two parents and two younger sisters. I was chosen because I have a mental disorder."

"Tell us about your family." Scarlet advised, wanting to keep it calm and simple.

"My entire family works out in the fields," Soya explained. "Its mostly tedious work as we're either picking produce or we're packing it away. As you can see though, I'm too big to get to the hard to reach fruit, as are my sisters, so we're ground workers."

"I guess that explains why you're so big," Scarlet said. "It'll help you big time in the arena, won't it."

"That is, if I don't get too scared to fight anyone." Soya muttered.

"Oh I don't think you should be afraid of them," Scarlet encouraged. "They should be afraid of you." Soya let out a small smile.

"I guess, but my family always said that I didn't look very intimidating because of my soft face."

"Hey, nobody ever said being pretty hurt." The two women shared a laugh before Scarlet felt that this would be a good time to prod deeper into Syoa's history. "So how do you get along with your family?"

"We get along as well as most family do, I guess..." Soya said, looking over to the tributes that had already finished their interviews. Scarlet had no doubt that she was thinking of Zora, who said that she shared no love for her family. "We're on good terms," she continued, still looking at the other tributes. "My parents look after us, my sisters and I look after each other, even if we do drive each other crazy at times."

"Sounds like an ideal family." Scarlet announced.

"That's one of two things that you can hope for in District Eleven." Syoa told her, to which, Scarlet was intrigued on what the second thing was.

"What's the second thing you can hope for?" Scarlet asked.

"Friends." Syoa answered before her buzzer rang and she excused herself out. Scarlet was thankful that the interview went as smoothly as it had gone and called up Soya's district partner, Trail Calloway.

Trail came onto stage sporting a simple brown suit with different kinds of food painted onto it. Trail walked over to his seat and sat down in it.

"Welcome, Trail," Scarlet started. "How are you enjoying your trip to this lovely place?"

"Honestly, Scarlet," Trail said. "It's been a good experience. When I'm here, I can eat more food than I ever could at home." Scarlet nodded as she had noticed that some of the tributes did look better feed now than they had when they had first appeared. And that was true with a lot of non-careers every year. So I didn't come to a surprise that someone would mention the food.

"Well I'm glad that you're enjoying your stay." Scarlet commented sincerely. "What do you think your favorite would be?"

"I don't know," Trail sighed. "There's just so many things that I've tried that it's hard to keep track of-" Trail then abruptly stopped mid-sentence and was staring at something that Scarlet couldn't see. Wondering what had peaked his interest, the interviewer turned to where the tribute was looking, and didn't see anything that fascinating.

"Trail?" Scarlet asked with concern, wondering if he had suddenly gone brain dead. "Trail?" She said before she gently touched him on the shoulder, to which broke Trail's concentration.

"What?" He asked in a stupor. "Oh, sorry, I got distracted."

"By what?" Scarlet asked.

"Two people in the audience were whispering something to each other and I started to wonder what they were talking about." Trail admitted. And even though Scarlet was kind of impressed with that, she knew that there were more important things for Trail to focus on.

"Don't worry out those two," she advised him. "The only thing that matters right now is the interview."

"Yeah. I know." Trail said with his voice laced with guilt. "It's just that-" Trail stopped again. "Look! They're doing it again!" He suddenly shouted as he pointed the two out. "What are they talking about? Is it about me?"

"Well they could be talking about how well you'll do in the arena," Scarlet said, trying to keep trail on track. "You did get a score of five, which is quite high for this year. That, and you look like you can handle yourself in the arena."

"I don't know, Scarlet. From what little I know about you aviators, they're probably talking about how well I'll do in the arena."

"That's what I just said." Trail then looked at her with an apologetic look.

"Sorry, I heard you say something but I wasn't paying attention."

"It must drive your family crazy, huh?"

"It does," Trail admitted. "But they're patient with me, as I'm their only child. They wanted more, but for some reason, they could only produce me and that was the end of that."

"I'm... Sorry?" Scarlet said, not knowing if those were the right words to use.

"It's all right," Trail said with a smile. "If they had gotten another me, I don't know how they'd cope with that."

"I'm sure they'd find a way." Scarlet encouraged.

"I'm sure they'd-" Trail started, but quieted yet again. "Hey you two!" He shouted. "What's so funny?" That was when the buzzer went off, and Trail exited the stage, muttering something that Scarlet couldn't hear. Scarlet figured that that could of gone worse as she called up the female from the last district she had to interview.

Ashton Meeker walked in with a white lace dress that stopped just above her knees. The second thing Scarlet noticed about her was that she wasn't wearing any shoes on. In fact, when Scarlet looked, she could see that Ashton was carrying her pair of white heels.

Ashton looked tired, but the stylist had done some work on her, making her look more awake than she normally did. And even if she didn't have the same bags under her eyes like Splendor and Radiance did, people could tell that Ashton didn't sleep well.

"Looking lovely tonight, Ashton," Scarlet complemented before Ashton plopped down on the guest chair, still holding onto her heels.

"Don't bother with flattery," Ashton replied before she let out a yawn. "I already know what you aviators think of me."

"And what's that?" Scarlet asked, not liking where this was going.

"I'm from District Twelve, the loser district that nobody wants to bet on. To all of you out there, I'm just a cave in lamp stamp girl that you have to put up with until my death. Those of you that are trying to flashlight me to victory, you're just saying shit and-" Ashton let out another yawn in the middle of her rant. "Doing it only because it's your job and hoping that you'll get bumped up a district or something."

"That's not true," Scarlet started, only to get interrupted by the girl.

"You're right," she said, to which the interviewer sighed with relief. "You're where you want to be, so you're only interested in staying where you are." Scarlet wanted to respond, but the sudden words of the much younger girl rang true for her, and that caught her off guard and she couldn't think of anything to defend herself with. "So truth be told Scarlet, I'd rather be back in District Twelve, at least there, people gave me a chance before they labeled me a cave in and left me for myself."

And with that rant concluded, Ashton got off the chair and walked over to the other side of the stage. And before Scarlet could call in Ashton's district partner, Ryan Burnout, he stormed out onto the stage and knocked down a broadcasting camera. The camera person cursed at Ryan, but Ryan simply walked over to the other camera as the first camera man struggled to get the large camera and stand upright again.

Ryan walked right past Scarlet, ignoring her completely, and walked right up to the second camera.

"I just want you to know mom," Ryan said in a surprisingly sorrowful tone. "I'm sorry." Then Ryan's voice turned harsh. "The interviews are done you fucking aviator asshole." Before he shoved the camera and stand to the ground and walked off stage. His buzzer rang pre-maturly, but Scarlet didn't care. The interviews were done, and that was all that mattered.

Sure she didn't get the best interviews ever, but considering that nobody else would have wanted this job in the first place, and that she had gotten some cooperative tributes, she considered it a success. Or, as much of a success as it could have been.

Still, there were going to be those that criticized her for her performance, but, what did they know? She had done her job, and from her perspective, the only person's who's opinion really mattered was the new president, and she hoped that he thought she had done a fine job.

 **A/N: It's over! It's finally over! It's okay, Novice, the interviews can't hurt you anymore.**

 **As all of you probably know, I hate writing the interviews, and I'm pretty sure you all could see how this chapter affected me, as the quality probably goes down with each and every tribute. Anyway, I hoped you all enjoyed this chapter through all my suffering.**


	21. Family Struggles Part 1

**District One**

 _"Mom. Dad. Why is Splendor still so sad?"_

 _Radiance Blackwell had never seen her brother in such a miserable state before, and she was getting worried for him. She had seen him in a bronze mood before, but this was on a whole other scale. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't want to go back to the academy and train, he didn't want to go out and see anyone, and what worried Radiance the most was that Splendor didn't even want to take care of himself._

 _The food that was placed in front of him, more times than not, Splendor would either just stare at it in silence, or just nibble at it, before claiming that he wasn't hungry. He was getting thinner, losing weight in a unhealthy manner and letting his appearance degenerate. He stopped showering, stopped shaving, stopped being neat and tidy. And nothing she, or her parents, had tried seemed to bring him out of his misery._

 _"He's still mourning over Valor's death." Her mother answered._

 _"It's been two months," Radiance replied sharply, thinking of how she had been sympathetic to her brother at first, but as more and more time past, she began to think more and more of how her brother should start to move on with his life. That he should start pulling himself back together and continue on living. Valor's death was a shock to say the least, and she could understand how the death of his best friend would put anyone in a state of shock, confusion, and guilt, but after two months and nothing about him had changed._

 _"I know sweety," her mother told her gently. "But your brother is still having a tough time cooping."_

 _"He'll come out of it... Right?" Radiance asked, not wanting her brother to be the way he was forever. She missed her brother, and the thing that was in her brother's bed, staring out into the abyss, was not her brother._

 _"I hope so, Radiance," her mother replied with sadness. "I hope so."_

Radiance looked back to that memory, and thought of how little she understood back then. She remembered yelling at her brother to get over it, asking him if Valor would have wanted to see him in the dreaded state that he was in, and to not throw away his future because he was feeling a little down. _How little I knew back then._ Radiance thought as she stoor at the television screen, watching aviators being interviewed and what they thought about the tributes and the upcoming games.

Splendor, at fourteen years old, had lost his best friend to suicide. Splendor had been the first one to find him deceased, as Valor had jumped from the roof of their house and broke his head open upon kissing the ground. Splendor had felt so guilty that he seemed to be nothing but a hollow shell. Splendor had became empty, blaming himself for Valor's death, saying that he could have stopped him, that if only Valor had talked to him about his problems, if only he had taken some actions, before he had jumped from the rooftop. If only had had noticed what his friend was going through.

Splendor, for nearly four months after that, seemed to be nearly as dead as his friend after that. Not wanting to go to the academy, not wanting to go and see any of his other friends, not wanting to do anything but wander aimlessly around the house in search of nothing when he wasn't laying on something and staring at the ceiling or the walls.

That was when Radiance learned what a thousand yard stare really was. Her brother wasn't looking at anything, he was looking through them. And when she looked into those eyes of his, the ones that had been so full of life before, they looked dull and void.

The academy called it a sign of weakness, and during that time period, she agreed with them. She had never seen anyone in such a pathetic state of mind before.

In the first month alone, Splendor had gotten struck with a virus and was bedridden because of how awful he felt and how sick he was. Sweating profusely and more than occasionally vomiting spontaneously and having violent diarrhea didn't help either. When the virus had apparently passed, her brother still felt sick. His then girlfriend, sometime after his sickness had passed, had broken up with him because he wouldn't do anything anymore. How her brother had cried that day.

His friends soon stopped visiting him after. He didn't very much notice due to the way he seemed almost catatonic. Radiance wondered if he even cared about anything at that point.

When her brother finally felt better, he wasn't the same. Radiance suddenly found her brother unable to concentrate very well, and he was always fiddling with his fingers and stamping his feet on the ground like he was ready to run a race. And to top that off, he was nervous when out in public. Her normally open brother started to become more reserved.

His academy marks began to fall, and eventually, the academy decided that he wasn't achieving high enough marks to continue studying to become a career. He became rusted.

Not too soon after that, her brother became a whole different person. One that she didn't know what to think of.

Her brother, at fifteen years old, began to socialize with people again, and at first, Radiance was happy to have her brother back. He was happy and open again. But it didn't take long for her to discover that, yet again, the person she was with was not her brother.

He had became too happy. Splendor would try to get with many girls and attempt to have sex with them because of his new found confidence. He began drinking and doing drugs because damn the consequences. Would have a flood of ridiculous ideas and try and make them come true because why the hell not. He would start spending loads of money on God knows what, would stay awake for days on end, and eventually, he would start talking to himself and would tell her and her parents things that were so unreal that they thought he was crazy.

He was crazy though, and they knew it. They didn't want anyone to know though, because they were afraid of what people would think of them. After all, their reputation had began to suffer after he had been rusted. They tried to confine Splendor to the house, but he was impulsive and didn't think things through at all. It made it difficult for them, as they needed to keep an eye on him every second. Radiance could remember her staying with her shirtless brother for a full twenty four hours with him trying to create a device made out of fruit, wire, batteries, pens, and a cardboard box. She never knew what he was trying to create, but nothing could deter him from trying to create it why he had put his mind to it.

They kept him a secret from everyone. They were already a talked about family because Splendor had became rusted and his inactivity for four months, they did not want to be talked about more. But it was hard to keep a secret like this shut. Especially when a fifteen year old boy seemed to have no self control and often went outside to do whatever he wanted to do.

Her family tried to deny it, tried to deny that something was wrong with Splendor, even though it was staring at them right in the face. Not even when the peacekeepers whipped him many times did they admit that something was wrong, because they thought that he was just misbehaving for some reason and he'd get over it. That he'd stop playing around.

If out in public, and people asked why her brother would act so bizarre, she'd tell them that he was on drugs. That stopped people from asking too many questions, but it certainly didn't help their reputation.

Eventually, Splendor started to become more and more enraged easier, destroying things within the house and shouting at them or things that weren't there. It didn't matter if there were people near or far, if it was the middle of the afternoon or late at night, it was all the same to him. Still, they denied that something was wrong with him.

It wasn't until she heard her brother screaming at himself on the top of the roof did she really start to admit to herself that there was something wrong with him. When she got to the roof to try and calm her brother down, she heard something that she'd never forget. Even though she didn't hear the whole thing, she would never forget what she heard her brother say.

 _"Mortal coil... Freedom... Jump off this roof and I'll be free."_

Radiance never let her brother jump off that roof. She tackled her brother and held him down with all her might as he screamed at her, most of which she filtered out and shouted for her parents, who arrived shortly after.

The three of them, after over a month of living with someone as wild as the struggling boy below her, they finally admitted that he needed help.

They literally dragged him to the medic, answered their questions, and let them study her brother, and from there, they forced some injections into Splendor before he calmed down somewhat. They asked him questions, and though it took a while for them to finish, they eventually gave him a diagnoses for his illness.

He was eventually given two more mental health diagnoses and given meds for those as well.

By the time it was done, Radiance couldn't believe that they had tried to cover it up for so long. She wondered how it could of happened, and what would have happened if she hadn't gotten to her brother in time.

The family struggled with the aftershock of her brother's actions, but they thought that it would end with the diagnoses that he had gotten. They were wrong. Splendor wouldn't stick to the medication, and without warning, the Blackwell family found themselves in a world of confusion and worry. Again.

As she thought of her brother in the past, she thought of her brother in the present, and saw how he was behaving. He was close, she knew that he was close. But times before this, nobody was going to be there to help him.

Radiance cried at the thought of how helpless her brother was, and hoped for some kind of miracle that would allow him to be kept sane enough that he was somehow able to return home.

* * *

 _"Radiance!" Glory Dricer bellowed out in rage._

 _She had learned from her fourteen year old daughter, who was currently walking to her room without a care in the world, that she had became rusted. How Radiance could walk to her room so casually without a care was beyond her, as it was one of the worst things that could happen to a teenager in the district. It was something that many teenagers, and even young children, dreaded would happen to them. If any of them became rusted, they begged the academy to take them back, would show them that they shouldn't of been kicked out, that a second chance would show them how wrong they were._

 _If the academy was feeling merciful, they'd give them a second and final chance and tell them to not become so bronze that they'd rust again. If they weren't so forgiving, they'd tell them that they were rusted and that was final._

 _Yet, when Glory read the report that the academy had sent her, along with what he daughter had told her, she wasn't just angry, she was bewildered. "Radiance!" Glory bellowed out again, this time with more force. "Stop right there young miss!" To which, Radiance stopped right outside her bed room door and gave out an irritated snarl._

 _"What!" The fourteen year old snapped back. "Fucking what!"_

 _"You know what," Glory said with nearly as much irritation, but not so much volume as she held out the letter from the academy. "They kicked you out, and you didn't even try to get back in?"_

 _"So what?" Radiance asked with a growl, to which the mother had to take a step back in shock. Sure Radiance had said some things to her in the past, but this was one of the most shocking things she had said to her._

 _"So what?" Glory shouted as soon as she had gotten over her astonishment. "So what? You're just going to throw away your future because you're feeling a little sad?" To which her daughter's brows began to come together._

 _"You have no idea how I'm feeling!" The teenager shouted back before she jabbed a finger harshly into her chest, to which Glory let out another shout of anger._

 _"I know that you're overacting to something so minor!" The mother replied harshly before she looked at her daughter's arms, and noticed that she had new slash marks across her wrists. It pained her to see that, and she didn't want it to happen anymore. "You should stop hanging with that rusted Loyal, he's not healthy for you, putting things into your head!"_

 _"Loyal's my best friend, and the only person who seems to understand me!"_

 _"And what good has he done you?" Glory roared in anger, thinking of that good for nothing that had slithered into her life. "Those slash marks, those drugs, did he tell you that you should stop caring about the academy as well?"_

 _"It was my decision to accept that I'm not good enough to be what YOU want ME to be! And Loyal's helped me more than you ever have!"_

 _"Fuck Loyal!" Glory screamed, letting out her true feelings about the boy. Radiance then pressed her teeth together as her eyes became intense._

 _"WHAT!?" Radiance shouted in rage._

 _"You heard me," Glory responded harshly, thinking about how that rusted fuck was affecting her daughter. How his filthy habits were becoming hers, how his look on life was becoming her own. "Fuck. Loyal. He's a good for nothing that does nothing and will never amount to nothing and is only dragging you down! Go get some real friends!"_

 _The next thing Glory knew, she was on the floor with his face stinging harshly._

 _"Don't you talk shit about Loyal!" Her daughter roared, louder and angrier than she had in a long time. "He's a better friend than the sluts and assholes who think they know shit about shit!" The teenager then opened her bedroom door and stormed inside of it, slamming it behind her so hard that Glory swore it rocked the whole house. "And that includes you!"_

Glory looked through the photo album of her family as the aviators on TV talked about the games and the tributes. Glory cared little for what they said, because they had already given their opinions on her daughter, and while she did not like them, she expected them. They called her a goner, a bloodbath, someone that had no hope in the world. The only positive things they said about her Radiance was that she was pretty, and that she'd give them satisfaction in knowing that she didn't die for nothing. That she'd entertain them with her death.

Glory looked at a picture of her six year old girl surrounded by other girls and boys as they made their way towards their first day at the academy. Bright eyed with her hair done up in a high pony-tail and a wide smile. The next few pictures showed Radiance with various weapons, mostly knives, at her training sessions at the academy.

Radiance was an average student through and through, but Glory was still proud of her daughter with the silver marks she got. For some reason, Glory noticed that she was always more interested in learning how weapons were made than how to use them, but she didn't mind. Glory could see that she could of been a weapon repair smith if life had gone by smoothly. But of course, life didn't go smoothly, as Glory had found out.

When her daughter was twelve, she noticed that Radiance would be crying more often than usual. At first she thought that it was just teenager hormones at work, so she didn't think too much of it. Then Radiance became more and more critical of herself, getting angry at things that didn't seem to bronze to her. Glory tried to encourage her daughter that things weren't as bronze as she thought they were, but Radiance didn't seem to be taking things so well.

Glory thought that other girls were making fun of her because of her silver marks, or that they were telling her daughter that she was a drab girl. Radiance, of course, would deny it, but she knew how teenager girls were.

Then her daughter's marks would get worse and worse, and she'd attend the academy less and less, claiming that she didn't feel well, that she was too tired, that she didn't want to go. Glory tried to encourage her daughter to go, and that she shouldn't let the words of others get to her too much, but Radiance couldn't seem to get over it. She didn't want to eat, she slept for more than was necessary, and she had less drive in her life than she had before.

Glory looked at a picture of her daughter, who was nearly thirteen the time the picture had been taken, and Radiance no longer looked like the bright eyed, wide smiling girl she had been. She looked down and tired. Beside her was a boy the same age as her, a boy that wasn't lanky, but not lean either, and looked just as down in the dirt as she did. With a lit cigarette in his mouth and the fact that he was rusted, Glory knew that he was bronze news. Worse than that, her daughter began to hang out with him rather than those at the academy. Her old friends, the ones that she had been friends with since the start of her academy days, she drifted away from.

She did not see anything gold in the future with him. And she was right. Her daughter began cutting herself, drinking and using drugs with him. Her academy marks began to fall even further, until she became rusted as well. At fourteen, Radiance wanted to throw her life away.

And then there was the suicide attempt. Radiance had consumed a huge quantity of drugs and nearly overdosed on it. She had heard vomiting, and when her daughter wouldn't answer her, she busted the door down, to see Radiance in a puddle of her own vomit, red faced and sweating with huge pupils while having a violent spasm. Her breathing was quick and shallow as she clawed at her own throat. Glory got her to the medics in time, and shortly after, she was diagnosed with her disorder.

Glory tried to be a golden mother after that, but nothing she could do would make her daughter the same. Her daughter hated her medication, and even if she did take it, she wasn't the same. She tried to be better, tried to get her daughter back to golden health, but she had her outbursts as well, because she got frustrated by her daughter, even if it wasn't her fault.

Glory let the tears fall from her eyes, thinking about the last conversation she had with her daughter at the justice building.

 _"I'm sorry I yelled at you and said those things to you last night." Glory told Radiance, only for Radiance to look at her with sad, broken eyes._

 _"No you're not," Radiance calmly said. "And don't worry, I'll be out of your life soon."_

What she would give to turn back time and take it all back. To get a second chance and raise her daughter right, starting from the day she turned twelve.

 **District Two**

 _"Just where in the hell were you!"_

 _Eleven year old Granite Houghton was woken up by another shouting match between his father and his thirteen year old brother, Thor. Granite sighed, used to this kind of thing occurring by now, and out of curiosity, checked his watch, and saw that it was a little past two in the morning. He was thankful that it wasn't later, as he would have been even more pissed off at his brother. After all, he was going to have a major examination at the academy in a couple of days, and he needed his rest so that he could please the instructors._

 _That, and he was sick of how his brother kept on waking him in the middle of the night for whatever reason. More than that, he hated how he treated his parents, disrespecting them and doing things behind their backs. He didn't understand how they could put up with him and continued to try and make him into a good little boy._

 _And even worse than that, he hated what he had done to the family. He had humiliated them all many times. Too many times in his opinion. He bullied other kids at the academy, disrespected the adults, stole things, ran away from home only to appear back a few days later, and sometimes longer. He destroyed property and would write cruel words on walls. And worst of all, he had gotten kicked out of the academy!_

 _If there was one thing that got the reputation of a family to spiral downwards faster and deeper than having a child getting kicked out of the academy Granite had never heard of it. For the past few days, Granite had been made fun of by his fellow peers of how he was the brother of an academy drop out, and they asked him if he was going to follow in his loser brother's footsteps._

 _Granite wasn't going to follow in his faggot brother's bladed footsteps, he was going to make his family proud by becoming the man his family wanted him and Thor to be. In fact, he wanted to be what the two of them were supposed to be combined._

 _"None of your concern old man!" Thor slurred, telling Granite that he was drunk, again._

 _"Is that alcohol?" His dad asked with irritation._

 _"What of it?" Thor casually asked._

 _"And is that-"_

 _"Cigarette smoke you smell? Yeah."_

 _Granite was disgusted by that. The academy encouraged their students to be responsible about their health. They said that after they finished with the academy as students, they could do whatever they wanted. It helped that drinking and cigarettes were illegal until you were nineteen, but that never stopped Thor, now did it? Rules didn't matter to him, and he preferred the company of those other academy drop out losers instead of the other students and the instructors._

 _"Thor," Granite heard his father shout out in a rage. "You better have a good ex-"_

 _"I'm out of that fucking academy!" Thor yelled out with glee, to which only fueled Granite's anger. "No more of this waking up at five in the morning bullshit and listening to some faggot wannabe solids telling me what to do because it gets their dick hard thinking that they control me!" Granite hated the way his brother thought. Thor didn't want to do it because he was a lazy clay asshole, and yet, he was trying to justify it in his own twisted way._

 _"What did you ju-" the father began, but was interjected by Thor again._

 _"So for me getting out, cheers is what I say!" A moment later, there was the sound of glass shattering. Granite guessed it was his brother smashing something because he could, and no other reason._

 _"You little shit!" He heard his dad yell out before he heard the two of them start to struggle with each other. Granite then heard the two of them get closer and closer to his room, and he pretended to be asleep as his father dragged his brother to the room across from his. All the while, his older brother continuously swore at his father and trivialize his very being. The younger boy heard the door across from his open up before it was slammed shut. "When the hangover comes up in the morning, you better think about how shitty your life is going to bec-"_

 _"Blah blah fucking blah!" Thor's muffled voice cried out. "Are you done shitting out of your mouth yet?"_

 _Granite groaned along side with his dad as the footsteps of the man faded from his ear._

 _Granite felt like going back to sleep, but he felt like doing something even more. Something that he had wanted to do for a very long time. He decided that it was the prime time for it, and missing a few minutes of sleep would be more than worth it._

 _The younger boy got out of his bed and picked up a wooden training sword that his father had given him for out of academy training, and gripped it with a purpose and a sense of power as he quietly made his way to his wasted brother's room._

 _Granite opened his bedroom door and slipped out of his room, barely a sound escaped as he made his way into his brother's room. Granite managed to close his brother's door behind him before he found his brother, attempting to fall asleep._

 _As he made his way to his teenage brother, the younger brother couldn't help but think of how easy it was. It was too easy, and he couldn't help but let out a snicker and a smile. His older brother didn't see and hear him coming until the block of wood made contact with his face._

 _The sound of a wooden sword meeting bone made a satisfactory crack. Not one of bone breaking, but one of bones being hit, and for the young boy, that was enough. "What the fu-" Thor started, but a hit to the chest shut him up._

 _The eleven year old then started to bash the blunt weapon onto his brother on the chest, the gut, the legs, and to a much less extent, the head. He didn't want to kill his brother, he wanted him to be hurt and for him to suffer. And with each blow that was delivered to his brother, Granite felt a rising sense of pride and power. One that he had never had before, and he briefly wondered if his brother felt the panic of what it was like to be a victim before he decided that it didn't matter._

 _And after nearly a minute of him battering him with the bludgeoning weapon, Granite finished him off with a strike to the testicles, which caused Thor to cry out in pure agony._

 _"That's for everything you put us through," he hissed with venom. "You fucking jack rabbit blade."_

 _Granite then made his way to his own bed, and slept happily that night._

That was the first and last time he managed to beat his brother.

And of course, the next morning, his older brother beat the living shit out of him.

His younger self should have seen that coming, because of course he was going to retaliate. Thor was injured, but Granite had obviously not injured him enough. Heavily bruised, sore, and pissed off, Thor beat his face in until he was nearly blinded. And by that, both his eyes were so swollen he could barely see.

When he went to the academy that morning, he could barely hit his targets and defend himself against the trainers and other students he was so sight impaired. He thanked God that he was able to recover enough the next morning and passed his exam, but it still frightened him how close he had been to failing.

Granite, now five years older, cursed himself as he re-lived that memory. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have taken his brother's meds away, because of course that stupid jack rabbit would take his meds to lessen the severity of the hang over.

Their parents managed to separate the two of them before Thor made things worse for him, but he had been foolish that night. He should have tied him up or something. Or beaten him more. _Definitely should have beaten him more._

Still, Granite figured he would learn from his mistakes and from the experiences of his fights with his brother and enrich his academy training with the lessons of the past. Those experiences only made him more solid, and he figured that made up for it. After all, he was the one that was going to restore the Houghton family name.

When his brother dies in the arena, it'll be a burden off his mom and dad, and him. Thor was not fit to be a victor, and it showed from the day he got his diagnoses at age eight. But even before that, he was a jack rabbit and everyone knew it. And when the meds didn't work out his behavior problem, he got a second diagnoses.

It was funny in a way, Thor was many things the academy wanted, but he was beyond anyone's control and he was defiant. Even when he got whipped it did nothing to change his attitude.

Granite's friends, the ones that had older brothers, the younger ones looked up to them in a way, even if they didn't admit it. They wanted to be like their older siblings, and that made them train harder. Sibling rivalry as it was called.

Granite had sibling rivalry as well, but he did not respect his brother in any way, shape, or form, and he hoped he'd never be like Thor.

Defiant for as long as he could remember, a bully for as long as he could remember, things just got worse and worse as his big brother grew up. Granite watched his parents fight each other about his brother which caused them to cry on numerous occasions. It made them wonder whether they were good parents or not and would blame themselves for what Thor was, even though it was not their fault. But from the way Granite had seen the other parents look at his parents, and the things he had heard them say, he couldn't blame his parents for having some self doubt.

He watched his brother fight with his parents, he watched his brother bully and steal from other kids, deface the academy, run away from home for days on end. And there were the days that he'd drink and smoke and do illegal substances.

And there were the times where his brother would fight him and insult him. And to make things even more painful, Thor didn't even attend the academy that much before he got kicked out, and yet, he was still able to somehow kick his ass.

When Thor ran away from home at the age of fifteen and didn't return after a couple of months, Granite thought that he'd see the last of his pathetic brother, and he was glad that he was gone. With him gone, he felt as if he and his parents were living like they were supposed to. Peacefully.

But after a year of being gone, Thor returned, and Granite was furious with that. Everyone had gotten used to not having him around, and the way he returned seem to be his way of saying a big fuck you to everyone. He had ruined their return from ruin.

Sixteen year old Granite looked to his mother and father, who were both looking at the TV screen in front of them, and asked them a question that had been on his mind for a very long time. "Do you think Thor will win?"

"No, son." His father answered smoothly. Granite was glad to hear that.

"And as I told him when he got reaped," his mother added. "We're no longer tolerating you and your behavior. You're no longer a Houghton anymore, we're not supporting you through the games in the least." Granite never felt so happy in his life.

* * *

 _"Nova," one of her friends said to her in a moderately hushed tone, like somehow, a certain someone could hear her from the distance she was from them. "Why is your sister so weird?"_

 _Fifteen year old Nova looked at her older sister, from her window and saw that she was sitting in the middle of the snow covered yard with a broken glass bottle neck to her eye. The wide, jagged part was pointing towards the sky while the narrow tube part was at her eye. In her other had was a flashlight that she was clicking on and off at random intervals._

 _As Nova looked closer, she could see that Terra had water inside the broken bottle neck, and how it was not splashing onto her face she had no idea. She was certain that she could think of several ways that that was possible, but she wasn't very interested at the moment._

 _The younger sister sighed and closed her close quarter combat book with a sigh, as the thought of what her sister was up to this time would disturb her learning until she learned what was actually going on. That, and why in God's name was she doing all this in the middle of winter? During the night no less._

 _"I don't know, Echo," Nova told her truthfully as she placed the book on her bed and got off the soft sheets she loved so much. "She just, is." She then grabbed a jacket and told her friend that she was going to see what was up before she left her to study._

 _Nova slipped on a pair of boots and put her jacket on before she went outside to check and see if her sister had a death wish._

 _As she approached, Terra didn't seem to notice the crunching of snow getting closer and closer to her. Finally, Nova got close enough that she could kick in her sister's head if she so felt like it. "What are you doing now, sis?" Nova asked as she crouched down, and finally noticed that Terra was wearing a bright yellow shirt and purple pants that had somehow became equally as bright._

 _Terra didn't even look at her when she answered. Hardly even moved either._

 _"I am communicating with God," she answered in her signature, flat voice. "Or whoever the fuck is up there." Nova looked up at the night sky, and all she saw were stars. The moon wasn't even out that night, and Nova couldn't even fathom how her older sister could see out of that water filled broken bottle neck._

 _"There's nothing up there, Terra," Nova told her sister. "And even if there were, how would they even be able to talk to you?"_

 _"Blinking." Terra answered as she clicked her flashlight on and off again. Nova couldn't see anything blinking. Not even her own sister._

 _"There's nothing-" she started, but was shushed by her sister before the flashlight started to click again. "There's nothing-" she started again before she was shushed again. The younger sister waited for a few moments before she tried to talk again. "There's nothing up there but the stars. And they aren't talking to you, Terra."_

 _"But they are," Terra said. "They're blinking." Nova shook her head and sighed. It was useless talking to her sister like this. There were moments where she was stuck in the false belief that somewhere, somehow, she was something special. And it wasn't always the same thing, but with each and every event, Terra thought that somehow, just somehow, she was special. But in reality, she really wasn't._

 _"Whatever," Nova said with as much patience as she could. "Why don't you come up to my room and be with Echo and I? You know you need to improve your academy marks if you want to stay in."_

 _"No." Terra quickly replied._

 _"Why not?" Nova asked._

 _"I don't like her." Terra bluntly stated, but it didn't surprise Nova._

 _"You don't like anyone."_

 _"I like you." Terra told her before she started to click the flashlight on and off again._

 _"I'm starting to think that the only people you like are me, mom, and dad." Nova told her as she looked back up at the sky, wondering what her sister could possibly see up there that was so much more important than academy training. She was so close to failing, and yet, here she was, looking up at the sky with a broken bottle neck and shining a flashlight to the heavens like she could talk to those that were up there._

 _The two stayed where they were in silence, the only thing breaking the silence was the push of a button. "Just don't catch a cold, will you." Nova told her before she peeled her jacket off and placed it over her sister's shoulders. "And it wouldn't hurt to try and make friends once in a while."_

 _"So you say." Terra replied flatly._

Nova wouldn't say that she was the outgoing girl with plenty of friends, but she wasn't sure no shut in like her sister was.

Sure Terra went out and was with people when she was at the academy, but Terra would avoid people like they were out to assault her. She wouldn't work with others if she could get away with it, and she wouldn't interact with people if she could get away with it as well. Nova knew that Terra was fully capable of being around people, but she was suspicious of them. And because Nova knew her better than anyone else, she would go as far to say that her sister was paranoid of people. Didn't trust them worth a damn.

It didn't help that people would pick on her, ridicule her for being the very model of clay in the academy, and most of all, being different. Nova used to defend her sister from those people, but after years of doing so, she was sick of being the caretaker. Nova often wondered why she, as the younger sister, was the defender of her bizarre sister.

Nova thought that she could help her sister by getting her to interact with people, so she pushed her sister to go out and see people, hoping that it would stop her from being a loner. That it would help her stop being weird. That it would motivate her from being clay and make her solid. But it was all for nothing.

Terra was always a loner, and she preferred it that way. Nova remembered their first day at the academy when they were six years old, she had went around and talked with the other kids about shit that mattered to them, which was everything and nothing at all, but most of all, how they were excited, scared, nervous, or all around didn't know what to do for their entrance to the academy. As was expected for kids their age. But Terra stayed away from the other kids, kept to herself and talked as minimum as she could.

The shy kid that didn't want to blade herself, that's what her parents told her she was and that Terra would grow out of it with time.

She never did.

And as time passed, Terra only got worse. She wasn't very good at learning social interactions, or the lessons from the academy. She was bullied because of her lack of understanding, bladeing herself because of that. Nova would offer help to her, but Terra more than often refused.

Terra became more and more of a loner by choice, and kids made fun of her for it, just like they made fun of her because of her horrible performances in both the social world and the warrior world. Nova would try to help her sister, but she refused the help.

Then when they entered their teen years, Terra began to act even more odd. Freaking out more severely than before. Nova had seen her sister freak out many times before, but by the time they were teenagers, Terra would be freaking out at things that weren't there. It scared Nova at first, but it was just another thing for the kids to bully her for.

Less known to people were the beliefs that Terra had at times. The belief that she was special in some kind of way.

But she wasn't, and Nova knew that. She was clay, she was close to failing the academy, she was a loner with no direction in life, and Nova often wondered if Terra even cared about life in general. Terra drank, smoked, and while she wasn't a mess, Nova would go as far to say that Terra was unkempt, but not overly so because mom and dad fixed her up before she would go out anywhere. And when Nova looked at her sister at the TV screen, she guessed that the only reason she didn't look like a mess was because the aviators kept her clean and neat, preventing her from looking like an oilier streak.

Nova loved her sister, but she hated the way her sister lived. Hated the way she had to take care of her. Defend her. Try to help her.

She didn't care what the medic had to say about her sister and what her fucking diagnoses was, Terra was just a loner that needed to socialize and get her head into the real world.

 _'I just want you to be normal!'_ Nova had screamed at her sister when the two of them were alone in their house one day. She was tired of being a caretaker to her sister, and Nova couldn't remember the day she started to act hostile to her sister instead of caring.

 _'But I'm not.'_ Terra replied back with that calm, monotone voice of hers. Like she couldn't care less about what she was and what others thought of her.

 _No, you're not._ Nova thought. _But I wish you were._

 **A/N: Hey guys, I decided to do only four tributes for this because I thought that reading about six or eight in one chapter would be a little too much info to take in all at once. If you guys want more tributes per chapter so that there's less chapters between now and the games, let me know. If I continue at this rate, it'll be about another ten chapters, give or take, before the arena.**

 **Also, the contest for guessing the mental illness is still open, and will continue to be open until all the districts for this segment is completed. The notice what is abnormal about the pictures in the blog is also open.**

 **In other news, because I like to make people laugh and you might need a douse of laughter, here's what happened to me recently.**

 **I was recommended to a place for youth with mental illness and I went there, and there, they were teaching about interacting with people, and the subject of the week was dating. And because I was the new guy, I got to go first in the group discussion quiz... Thing. Where they ask you random questions and you have to answer them with what you'd do, or what's wrong/right about them, or whatever.**

 **One of the instructors pointed to me and was like: "Novice, your new girlfriend comes out wearing a dress and she asks you if the dress makes her look fat, what do you say?"**

 **To which I reply: "Depends. Does it?"**

 **Needless to say, I was the first (but not the last) to fail. We had a group discussion about our failures after.**


	22. Family Struggles Part 2

**District Three**

 _"You can't be serious, Nick!" Pixel yelled at her larger friend as he walked away from the snow caped building. She trailed behind him, just avoiding a shutting door as his feet meet the snow._

 _Nick was, yet again, retreating from school in the middle of a lesson, and yet again, nobody was even trying to stop him. Nobody but her. Not that the teacher could do any good if she had tried anyway. She had found out too many times that denying Nick his leave would just end in something worse. Not only that, but she didn't really have a good reason to stop him, his decision to leave was his own, and it's not like she was paying to keep him in the classroom. Besides, Nick was only one of many students that she needed to look after, and one problem child was never worth as much effort as was needed to stop Nick._

 _And the other students, they weren't any help either. And Pixel was pretty sure that they were part of the problem as of late._

 _So here she was, trying to get her friend from leaving, once again. She knew it wasn't going to be the last time either._

 _"I am serious!" Nick shouted back at her, the snow crunching beneath his shoes as he made his way away from the school. "I can't be in there right now. I don't want to be in there right now."_

 _Nick had just returned to school days earlier, but Pixel found him leaving earlier and more frequently. And Pixel could tell that he didn't want to be in that room. That building. Not with everything that had just happened. And the other students weren't making it easy for him. Not with all the false rumors spreading and the way that they looked at him now._

 _There was a reason Nick tightened his hood around his face and wore gloves, and it wasn't just because it was winter. It wasn't just because it was chilly out. No. It was because of something much closer._

 _"Didn't you say you wanted to come back?" Pixel asked as she chased after her friend, quickly catching up as he shoved his hands into his baggy, over sized jacket pockets._

 _"Yeah. I did." Nick answered as he withdrew a rectangular box and his homemade lighter. With practiced ease, Nick slapped the bottom of the package on his wrist and withdrew a cigarette with his mouth. Then with equal ease, he ignited a flame from his lighter and burned the end of the white cylinder before blowing out the flame. "I regret it now."_

 _"You don't really mean that." Pixel told him, knowing him too well to believe that._

 _"I almost do." Nick replied as he polluted his lungs with the toxic substance._

 _"Well what you're doing is helping very much is it." Pixel stated before Nick replied as thick grey steam exited his mouth._

 _"It's been working for me so far." To which then Pixel felt as if she needed to say what had been on her mind for quite a while, and it had only grown in her mind since the incident. She couldn't hold it in anymore, and even though she had hinted to Nick this issue several times, he never seemed to pick it up. Either that or he simply didn't care. But Pixel was going to make sure that her message was loud and clear and that there was no way that he couldn't not hear it._

 _The teenage girl jumped in front of her friend and made him halt where he was. Nick did indeed halt and looked down at her through the tightened up hood. With the way his mouth twisted and the way most of his face was covered either by fabric or shadows, added with the burning cigarette in his mouth that cast an eerie glow on his face, he looked quite intimidating. It also helped that at fifteen years old, he was nearly four inches taller than her and larger than even some of the adults in the district, but Pixel knew that he wasn't going to do anything to her._

 _She had seen him go out of his way to avoid fights, even though he was physically capable of holding his own. He might look like a thug, but he was anything but._

 _"You know asshole," she shouted at him as she jabbed her index finger into his chest. "I thought that after that inferno and the visit to the medics, you'd have started to change. But look it looks like I was wrong."_

 _"Very." Nick growled as he tried to move around the girl, only for her to shove out an arm and stop him in his tracks a second time._

 _"I don't care what your fucking diagnoses says about you, are you going to just continue to be a humanoid program to your impulses?"_

 _"Not like I have a choice." Nick growled as she shoved past his friend's arm before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and leaving a trail of acrid smoke for her to smell. She hated that smell. It reminded her of how much her friend had suffered, and it was still fresh in her mind. She had no idea how Nick could stand it. Not with all the inner suffering that he had with him._

 _How her friend was going to create his greatest affection she did not know. It was snowing, and with each snowflake that hit the surrounding surfaces, it only made it that much harder for Nick to make his creation. Not that it was stopping Nick. Not that anything seemed to stop Nick from doing just that. He'd find a way. He always found a way._

 _Pixel wanted to chase after him. She wanted to bring him back into the school building where it was warm and at least kind of pleasant, but it was hopeless. Nick wasn't going to be back. Not anytime soon. His time would be too preoccupied trying to create something destructive. And when it had been created he'd be too consumed in it's glory to think about coming back to school._

 _Pixel looked between her friend and the school, wondering what to do, before Nick lazily waved out a hand towards the school building. "Go back to school, Pix," he casually told her without turning back. "I've already ruined my future, don't let me ruin yours."_

He was not responsible.

Pixel knew that he wasn't responsible for what had happened to his family, but that's not what people around District Three thought. Because of course, they would think that Nick created that fire on purpose. Because of course Nick would want to kill his own family in a blaze of roaring heat. And that of course, he'd want to be licked by the fiery tongues of his own violent fascination.

And the more those false rumors spread, the more Nick himself started to believe that they were true, and that affected his state of mind.

Nick would excuse himself from the class more and more often and earlier than he normally would. And Pixel heard what the other kids would say about him, and what they'd whisper to each other even when he was there. The nerve that they had.

Pixel remembered the first time they met. It was their first day of school, and when Pixel had asked him what he liked to do, he had answered with something that was to be expected. He had said 'I like fire.' And though it was nothing short of bizarre, it didn't stop Pixel from wanting to be around him as Nick was a nice guy and didn't seem dangerous. Just different, if not strange.

Diagnosed at age eight, it did nothing to change Nick. He was still the same person before and after the medics had explained his condition. And there was more to Nick than just his fascination with flames, but not many people tried to understand Nick as well as her. All they saw was a kid that liked to set fires.

Nick was adventurous. He wasn't afraid to explore, and that's what drew the two of them together. They liked to explore the district, and that's how they found their secret spot in the district. Where they could be isolated from the rest of the people in the district. Where Nick was free to pursue his passion and Pixel was away from all the responsibility of the world. If even just for a short time.

But even then, Pixel had learned how to live on her own because of him. Nick was surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, a good cook, and he had taught her how to make meals on her own when her parents were away for work or too tired to care for her.

Her parents didn't like her being around him as they had the same twisted thoughts about him that the rest of the district had about him. That he was going to become violent and destructive because of his obsession with fires. Pixel knew better though. Sure he liked fires too much and he depended on them a little too much, but he was neither violent nor destructive. But ever since he burned his own house down and caused the death of his parents, their beliefs about him were solidified. Not that their thoughts about him had ever changed. She wished that they'd give him a chance and think of him as something other than an arsonist in wait.

Now looking at the TV screen in front of her, she thought of how the Hunger Games had been the same for her every year. She'd wake up, go to the reapings, hope that nobody she cared about got reaped, go home, watch the games, and when it ended, she'd move forward with her life.

It was like clockwork.

But this year, someone she cared about had gotten reaped, and she wasn't watching the games to see how far someone in the district got, she was watching it in hope that someone from the district would return home. And though many wouldn't care if Nick lived or not, she certainly did.

She thought of what advantages Nick had, and of course, the first thing that she had thought of was his ability to create fires. Nick had a talent to create a fire in near any condition, and when he was determined to make one, he'd make it.

Another advantage that he had, one that most non-bronholes had was the ability to survive and function when food and resources were scarce. And while Nick wasn't as big or strong as someone from a bronhole district, or even someone from District Seven or Eleven, he was bigger than the average District Three teenager and knew how to fight, even though he tended to avoid such a thing.

Pixel sighed as she looked at the screen and thought of how unlikely it was that Nick was going to be coming back home, as odds were always not in their favor, and the chances of him getting sponsors were slim because the aviators would want to sponsor someone else other than him. And she couldn't spend any money on him because of the outrageous prices that the aviators wanted for the gifts, not without other means of support.

But still, she could hope the best for her friend. And that's what she was going to do.

* * *

 _"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Came the horrified scream of her daughter._

 _Tag Casteel looked towards the source of her sound and saw her daughter looking at the room in shock, like it was a disaster area. But Tag saw nothing that was worthy of a voice of that volume. Or of that facial expression that Dayta had on her face._

 _Tag looked around the room a second time, and saw nothing upsetting about it. After all, she had just finished cleaning it, and for some reason, her daughter was freaking out about it. She'd think that her daughter would have been happy to see that the house was once again the way that it was supposed to be, but she got that tone of voice and that horrified look on her face instead._

 _"I cleaned the house," Tag informed, feeling proud of herself as things were neat and organized once again. Everything was in it's place and the place looked better than it had in years. Sure it still had it's flaws and there were still things that needed to be done, but it was still a sight for sore eyes._

 _With her daughters studying hard and her husband struggling at work, and the fact that she had a day off from work because of complications in the factory she worked at, she decided to put some work into the house._

 _She fixed some leaks on the ceiling and cleaned the house, and she was quite proud of herself. Everything was disorganized and in all the wrong places. Oddly placed at that too. But she had taken care of it. "Isn't it wonderf-" Nine year old Dayta Casteel then let out another loud scream as she grabbed her face with both hands._

 _Tag looked at her other daughters, who, along with Dayta, were only going to be here briefly to drop off their school supplies before heading off to their jobs, were standing. They didn't look as surprised as she did, almost like they were expecting something like this to happen._

 _"What's the matter, Day-" Tag began, but Dayta started to talk over her._

 _"It's ruined!" She moaned, but mostly yelled. "Ruined! Ruined! Ruined!" She then let out another shout of misery. And again, Tag couldn't see anything wrong. She was about to ask what was ruined, when Dayta started to grab items and start placing them in different locations._

 _"Dayta," Tag said to her with a stern voice. "I just fixed this room, and don't you need to go to work?"_

 _"This." Dayta said with an edge in her voice, not stopping with her own organizing. "Needs. To be. Fixed."_

 _"It's fine, Dayta." Tag insisted, only for it to fall to deaf ears as her youngest daughter started to mutter to herself. She couldn't understand any of them, but it sounded like Dayta was cursing her out. Tag wanted to know what was going on with Dayta, and she looked at her two older daughters. Tesla, and Cord. Who both looked at each other before ten year old Cord looked at eleven year old Tesla._

 _"Don't look at me, you're the oldest." Tesla then gave out a long and exaggerated, frustrated groan before she faced her mom and began explaining._

 _"So we were going to tell you mom, but it just never seemed like a good time. I mean, you and dad were busy most of the time, and we thought that because this was a charge and that it'd throw you guys out the loop and that it'd short circuit your jobs and-" Tag didn't want to hear the entire history of it, she just wanted to know why her youngest was acting so switchy suddenly._

 _"Tesla, right now, I don't care why you kept it a secret from me. What I DO want to know is what's wrong with Dayta." She didn't say it in a mean tone, but she certainly didn't say it kindly either. She was pissed that her daughters had kept something like this a secret. Whatever it was._

 _"Dayta switched," Tesla answered quickly. "We don't know how it happened. But one day she just started wanting everything to be neat. She wanted everything neat and the way she wanted it to be. And if we did anything that she didn't like she'd freak. It's like she's a humanoid program to some kind of super perfectionist."_

 _"I think I would have known if Dayta switched." The mother informed, only for her daughters to give her a blank stare. One that she knew all too well. They had given it to her many times, and she had given them the same blank expression as well. It was one that told the one it was cast upon that they didn't think they knew a damn thing._

 _"You have nooooo idea." Tesla drawled before she instructed her mother to come with them. Tag, out of sheer curiosity, followed her daughters to their room, leaving Dayta behind to reorganize the front room._

 _Tag arrived at the room all three of her daughters shared, and when she went inside, she honestly saw nothing wrong with the room. If anything, she thought that the entire house should be as neat and tidy as the room she had just entered. Everything was organized so that everything was easily available and could be found quickly, and she found that she could easily navigate the room._

 _"I don't see what's the matter." She informed, only to hear her two daughters sigh._

 _"You wouldn't, because you haven't been with Dayta in this room." Tesla countered as she pointed to each and every spot in the room. "Dayta needs everything to be like this, otherwise she freaks out and puts everything back to the way they were. If a new item needs to be added, she rearranges the whole room so that it'll fit her idea of perfect. Or throw it away. And the only reason she hasn't freaked out over the house is because it was the way she liked it. It wasn't perfect, but it was the way she thought that it should have been."_

 _"Dirty and a mess?" Tag asked, confused to what she meant._

 _"No," Tesla said harshly. "In line with her system." She then pointed to a shelf and explained. "Everything is in fours. Four shelves. Four beds. There's no windows in this room, but if there were, there'd be four. She's got the items in an organization of colours. Hell, there's even four lights on the ceiling. And in case you didn't notice, there's four beds in this room, with four kinds of sheets on each. All organized the same."_

 _It was then that Tag noticed the sheer perfection of the rows and the room itself. Nothing seemed out of place, but that's because nothing was out of place. Everything seemed so, perfect, and that was why she hadn't noticed that abnormality of the situation. At least not right away. Tag wondered how she hadn't noticed it before. "And to top it off, mom, the reason Dayta does this, is because she says that if everything isn't just so, a bad charge will happen."_

 _"What do you mean, a bad charge?" She asked, hoping that it would shed some light on the situation._

 _"I don't know, she never said."_

 _"Did anything happen to Dayta to make her switch?"_

 _"No." Cord answered. "She just... Did."_

That was the day she questioned herself.

Tag hadn't known that there had been something wrong with her daughter, even though her other daughters had known all along. Sure Tag could tell herself that Dayta had kept it under wraps and Tesla and Cord never told her anything, but Dayta was her child, she should have known that something was wrong with her.

It turned out that everyone knew what Dayta had been going through. Dayta's friends had figured out that something was wrong with her, and they had began to get increasingly frustrated with her as she tried to fix everything in her path and act just plain bizarre. Her friends called her annoying, always trying to make everything perfect. And while it wasn't a quick process, it wasn't a slow one either, Dayta began to lose her friends because of her fear of something bad happening and her compulsions to do things that didn't make sense to anyone but her.

Everything was scheduled and controlled. It was hard for the Casteel family to adapt to Dayta's organization skills when Tag finally informed her husband and allowed Dayta's secret to control the household. The things they needed to learn and the things they needed to know, it was tough on all of them. But Tag knew that it was tougher on Dayta, as she was the one that had to live with the condition that she had.

Diagnosed at age ten, Dayta had known that something was wrong, but she didn't know what. Not only that, but Tag had also discovered that Dayta had been overwhelmed with stress and had cried herself to sleep many nights. And what the mother had found most disturbing and distressing was what Dayta had been doing to herself in the utmost secrecy. Dayta had been intentionally injuring herself.

The mother couldn't even imagine what she was going through. How much pain her little girl had been going through as she lost rationality while at the same time, keeping her sanity, losing her friends, losing her happiness, and finally, being discriminated for something that she couldn't help. And all the times that she had gotten frustrated with her daughter were coming back to haunt her.

She wondered if Dayta hated her for not being kinder towards her, because kids remember their parents saying something bad to them rather than remembering them saying something good. And Tag knew for a fact that she had gotten irritated with Dayta too many times to count.

Dayta didn't need that in her life. Not with everything that she had with her.

The only thing that Dayta seemed to enjoy was her job at the electronics factory. The kids didn't enjoy her much, and though Dayta hated it, she had expected it, and she tried to not let it bother her too much. The head manager had liked her though, as did the owner of said factory, and thus, they made her a manager herself at the age of thirteen. She was organized, she was telling kids what to do, and not only that, but she was productive and smart as well. The two head figures of the factory thought that she was capable to be a leader, and someone that was capable of a higher level job within the organization. And so far, Dayta hadn't disappointed them, as she was still in that position two years later. Something that many thought was impossible without an education as Dayta had quit school that very year.

it didn't help Dayta with her social life, but it did help her with her home life. The Casteel family had never known such luxury as the one they lived in now. They were able to buy more food. Their roof no longer leaked and they were able to repair everything in the house. No longer was their peeling paint and rotting wood, their home had improved in both eye sight and quality of life.

And while Dayta was never the same, even on medication, she acquired some sense of normality. That is, until the Capitol announced the quarter quell and took away her meds and Dayta's symptoms came back full force.

Tag looked back on the times with her daughter, and wished that she could have changed many of those moments.

 **District Four**

 _"They hate me."_

 _"Blue, they don't hate you." Reef Villegas tried to explain to his fourteen year old son. Blue, out of nowhere, had some how come to the conclusion that his friends were against him and wanted to do bad things to him. But Reef had heard the conversation that Blue and his friends had just done in the other room. They all wanted to go to a relatively isolated section of the beach and do what teenagers wanted to do. Mostly create a bonfire and hang out. And while Reef was against kids so young consuming alcohol, Reef knew that there was little that he could do to stop them._

 _The peacekeepers on the other hand, most certainly would if they got caught with such substances. But them being fourteen and fifteen year olds, they thought that they could get away with it. There was no stopping it, and Reef wasn't going to try, they'd only talk about how stupid he was behind his back, and he wasn't going to waste his time and breath trying._

 _But somehow, Blue had perceived events differently._

 _"Then why are they planning on creating a fire in the middle of the beach and bringing alcohol?" Blue countered as he looked out the window, watching his friends walking down the street away from the house. They were too far to hear, and though neither party could hear each other, Blue was trying to guess what they were saying. "I bet they're thinking, that dumb ass, Blue, we're going to get him drunk, and while he's nice and liquored up, we'll call the peacekeepers and get him whipped."_

 _"And why in the world would they do that?" Reef questioned, finding the entire thing ridiculous._

 _"Damn if I know," Blue answered. "But I know what they're planning. Oh yeah, I know what they're planning."_

 _"Blue," Reef sighed as he brought a hand to his head. "Do you even have any proof?"_

 _"Did you not hear them?" Blue asked harshly as he continued to stare out the window. "The things they said? The way they said them? They looked at me when they talked, and I know that means something. Especially when they said, bring the strong stuff."_

 _Harmless things. Harmless things that normal people talked like, and yet, somehow, Blue managed to think that they were trying to bring him harm. Of course he heard what they said, but there was nothing malevolent about the words that had been spoken. They had said the words excitedly, but in a secretive kind of way because they knew that an adult was in the next room over. And when they said bring the strong stuff, Reef knew that they were talking about strong liquor. Spirits._

 _It was almost unimaginable how Blue managed to get something out of nothing. Amazing even if it weren't so stupid. The father knew that his son always seemed to have trust issues, but this kind of thing... Damn._

 _"So what are you going to do about it?" Reef asked curiously._

 _"I'm not going obviously." Blue told him. "They can't do anything to me if I just stay here. Because fuck them and what they're planning." Reef just sighed and went back to filleting the left over fish from his wet foot work. He knew that it was pointless to try and convince Blue otherwise. His son had his mind set on it, and as unjustified as it was, Blue wasn't going to be easily swayed._

 _He looked forward to another quiet night as he and his son minded their own business._

Blue always had a distrust of people.

Even as a child, Reef found that his son had serious trust issues with people. Blue didn't even trust his own family. It made it hard for Blue to make friends, and it was even harder for him to keep them as friends as he drifted in and out of friendships like a piece of drift wood wanders from one pile of ocean junk to the next.

Not only that, but Blue would often perceive things oddly, like thinking that anything and everything could be against him. Like if you used the wrong word or placed your body the wrong way when talking to him, he could think that you were threatening or insulting him. And even if you weren't even talking to him or about him, you could look in his direction for a fraction of a second and he'd think that you were talking about him.

It made it hard for Blue to stay in the academy, as he'd often think that the instructors were insulting him. And while they said things to the students, it was part of the career path. It was used to harden you, to make sure that you learned. But Blue took it as a personal insult while most students merely brushed it off. It got him in a lot of trouble as he outright confronted the instructors with his make believe thoughts.

And it wasn't just the instructors, but the other students as well. And Blue didn't forgive easily.

Home life was something else as well. Blue would want to stay alone and often isolated himself from the world. Sometimes Reef thought that that was the better option, as every time they tried to bring Blue out, he'd cause a ruckus. And even if he didn't, he would have paranoid thoughts that disrupted the activities that the family wanted to do. Saying that a person was looking at them funny and that he didn't want to be there anymore. The family more often than not, choose to return home in order to prevent Blue from having an outburst.

His wife, Misty, was having troubles of her own because of their son. Blue had embarrassed her on too many occasions that she didn't even want to be seen with him in public.

Many thought that they were bad parents, and that took a toll on Misty, and Reef himself. Reef didn't think that anything was wrong with Blue as he seemed just like any other kid, he just wasn't that good with making friends and might have a bit of a trust issue, but other than that, completely normal. In fact, if nobody even knew about Blue's problem, he could be perceived as a normal kid. Seemingly rebellious at times? Sure. Short tempered at times? Sure. But it was only because of his acts at the academy and at his jobs that people started to spread rumors about him.

Eventually, Reef and his wife took Blue to the medic because they really wanted to know if something was mentally wrong with him and if there was something that they could do to help him. He got diagnosed with his disorder at age fourteen, and learned that it had affected him his whole life.

They gave him and Misty meds to help Blue, and while it did help, the symptoms would never completely go away. Blue still had trust issues, but he wasn't having outbursts as much and was a more functioning member of the district.

Reef didn't like the way his son acted, but Blue was still his son, and he wished him the best in the games. And knowing Blue, Blue was more than prepared for the games, even if he didn't have proper training since he had gotten kicked out just before being taken to the medics and diagnosed. But still, Blue had an advantage, even if he didn't know it.

* * *

 _It was no secret that nobody liked his sister._

 _Cruise Trent considered himself the top candidate for who didn't like his older sister, but his parents were the ones that came an extremely close second. Cruise had heard them saying that they were embarrassed with Marsha and that they wished that they had never had her, as she was nothing but trouble for them. Cruise strongly agreed with them, and was currently doing something about it._

 _"You like your rope so much," Cruise snarled at his twelve year old sister as she struggled to break free of the noose around her neck. "You can die by it." Cruise let out a smile as Marsha started to struggle for breath as her efforts became useless as her feet kicked about in a futile effort to reach the floor. Cruise knew how to tie a noose, and there was no way that his retarded sister was going to get out of it alive. Her face was beginning to get a light shade of red as her air circulation was cut off, and it wouldn't be long before her face was a dark shade of red and purple and her brain ceased to function. As little as it was already, she'd really be brain dead._

 _For far too long, Marsha had been a stain on the Trent family. Her stupidly was legendary, as she couldn't learn anything but those damn ropes. She wasn't interested in anything else but those damn ropes._

 _Loner by choice, but it wasn't like anyone wanted to be with her. Was scared of bright lights and loud noises, which was something that was common at the academy, and would be common on the battle field, and was also common in District Four. Marsha might be a wet foot worker, but this was District Four, anyone could be a wet foot. All it takes is a boat and a rod with some bait. It wasn't anything special._

 _Her academy marks were horrendous, a disgrace to what it meant to be a career. She had horrible coordination and would often get hit with the training weapons, lose her balance when she needed to balance, and was slow at following directions too many times to count. Not only that, but she would spazz out and scream, hold her palms to her ears, close her eyes, and spin around when she got freaked out for whatever retarded reason._

 _She had a reputation around the academy, that quickly spread around District Four, and Cruise, and his parents, hated having her around as people would point and laugh at Marsha and them. And while he was an outstanding student, that didn't seem to matter as Marsha was his older sister and better known than himself. He couldn't stand living in a shadow like that._

 _As far as he could see, Marsha was a bother to the academy, she was a pain in the ass to his parents, and to him, she was someone that nobody would miss. And for that, she was going to get what she had coming to her. And he couldn't believe how easy it was to murder her._

 _All he needed to do was grab a length of rope, tie a noose, sneak up on Marsha, throw one end of the rope over a sturdy block of wood near the ceiling, loop the noose around Marsha's neck, and pull on the opposite end._

 _Marsha's feet swiftly left the floor before she could even scream. All that came out of her mouth was the gasp of suddenly finding out that you were being chocked to death._

 _Cruise watched with glee as he held the rope to his sister's death, and he wasn't going to lower it until she was dead. He'd have to make an excuse to why she was dead, but he could simply come up with one later. For now, he was just going to enjoy the moment, feeling the struggling figure vibrate on the rope, and thinking of how that she was dying by his hand. How it brought pleasure as he felt her life force drain away._

 _Then suddenly, Cruise saw something that had not been part of his plan. Marsha had somehow loosened the noose, and she slid her head out of the death trap and landed on the floor with a thud. Cruise lost his balance as the sudden loss of weight caused him to stumble backwards._

 _As Cruise regained himself, Marsha was gasping for air and holding her throat. She was still sprawled out on the ground, but slowly getting to her feet._

 _Cruise, enraged that she had somehow escaped, grabbed the first hard object that he could find in the room, which turned out to be a heavy lamp, and charged at Marsha as she was on one knee._

 _Cruise went in hard and fast, and hoped that one good hit to the head would end his sister. Lifting the lamp above his head with both hands, had swung it down with all his might to break Marsha's head open, only to miss as his sister had dodged the shot._

 _The eleven year old tried to recover, but he felt a fist smash into his throat an instant before he was unable to draw air. Cruise clutched his throat before Marsha punched him behind the right knee, causing him to take a knee. Right after that, Marsha poked him in both eyes simultaneously, blinding him and causing him to give out a chocked scream._

 _Cruise then felt himself being slammed onto the floor before he forced his eyes open, and suddenly found himself being assaulted by his dumb ass sister, who mercilessly kicked him while he was down. He tried to defend himself, but it hurt his arms more and more with each and every kick. And when Marsha began stomping on him, that was when the intensity of the pain he was feeling turned up._

 _Marsha brutally kicked and stopped on his chest and face. Blood, bruises, and torn skin were appearing on his face, and intense agony were forming in his face and chest. He was unable to defend himself properly as fear formed in his mind and the familiar flavor of blood pooled in his mouth._

 _"You like beatings?" Marsha screamed out as she lashed out on him. She didn't continue talking, nor did she give him a chance to answer._

 _Cruise couldn't find anyway to fight back, he was completely at her mercy._

 _He continued to feel everlasting agony until Marsha delivered one good stomp to the head, and he had fallen to the mercy of a blackout._

He never forgot that day.

It was the last day that his sister had ever beaten him in a fight. Cruise felt angry and humiliated as he woke up in the medical center over eighteen hours later, covered in bandages with his body in torment, even with the pain killers pumped into his system.

It turned out that Marsha had given him five fractured ribs, internal bleeding in the abdomen, and had crushed his left cheekbone. Skin from his face and chest had been torn as a result of laceration, and there were ugly black and purple bruises covering his face and chest like some sort of diabolical armor.

But despite the physical pain, the thing that was wounded the most was his pride. He was been defeated by his shit for brains sister. The girl that got pains from lights and sound. The girl that didn't like changes. The girl that appeared deaf at times.

He swore to himself that it wouldn't happen again. It was far too humiliating.

He was unable to go back to the academy for weeks because of his injuries, and by the time he was able to go back, he felt weak and out of practice. He quickly got back up to his old skills though and was a croc as ever.

When he got his strength back, he gladly beat the shit out of his sister. He didn't send her to the medics like she had done to him, but he left her bloody and bruised with three missing teeth. They weren't noticeable, but its not like anyone cared anyway. Their parents sure didn't.

And from that day on, Marsha was nothing but a punching bag for Cruise, and he loved it. No matter how many bruises, or bloody noses, or how many times he had made her cry, nobody in District Four cared. He did it in front of the trainers, in public, in front of his parents. Nobody gave a fuck about her.

Marsha, diagnosed at age age three, lost the ability to talk at age thirteen, learned to talk like a retarded infant soon after, continued to be fucking stupid after. She was just good enough to stay in the academy, something that Cruise didn't think was right. Her marks stunk other than something she was interested in, and she didn't like to do much anyway.

Cruise wished that he could have killed his sister himself, but because she had gotten reaped for the Hunger Games, he thought that it was even better, because him and his parents wouldn't have to come up with an excuse on how she died. And they wouldn't be looked at like monsters for killing their own flesh and blood.

Cruise couldn't wait for his sister to get into the arena and meet her end. And neither could his parents.

 **A/N: Hey everyone, my computer keeps on re-setting itself and I don't know what it's problem is, so that delayed this chapter.**

 **Another thing that's been delaying it is that I bought the game 'Life is Strange', and let me tell you, it is a beautiful, beautiful game where the choices you make actually seem to matter. Choices I made in episode one actually seemed to effect episodes after that. Even up to episode five. I felt like crying more than once, and I screamed out a big "NOOOOOO!" At one point. And the final choice. Dear God, the final choice...**

 **The game is great, where there are decisions that I didn't know which one was right and which was wrong, and even though I could rewind time and choose another, there were times where I questioned which one was right. It was intense.**

 **Anyway, I'm sorry for not replying to your reviews, and one of you, you know who you are, I'm sorry for not catching up on your SYOT. I will, eventually.**

 **What I'm also doing is going back to army work, and there's a lot of work this month. And next month... And there's other fanfics I want to catch up on. And a TV show that I need to catch up on... I still haven't re-started that two million word fanfic that I said I was going to re-read and finish...**


	23. Family Struggles Part 3

**District Five**

 _"Where's Spark?"_

 _That was a question that Coaxial Gambel found himself swiftly getting used to. Whether it was his wife or youngest son asking him that question, he found that it was a common question among the family. But that didn't mean that he was comfortable with it. If anything, the question unnerved him. It worried him. And he often found himself unable to give a proper answer, or at least an answer that satisfied anyone._

 _"I don't know." He sighed as he placed a plate of food on the table for his family minus one._

 _"He's been missing meals," his wife, Plug, redundantly informed him. "It's not healthy for a growing kid to miss meals like he's been doing." Coaxial had been noticing that for a while now. Spark didn't eat as much as he had been before, and for some reason, he seemed to want to avoid food in general._

 _Not only that, but Spark's mood had changed as well. No longer was he the happy kid that he had once known, but now he was a nervous, self criticizing, and generally unhappy kid. A complete contrast to what he had been before. Coaxial didn't know the conductor of his eldest son's strange behavior, but it sure didn't go unnoticed. How couldn't it? Spark missing for long periods of time, he wanted to be left alone more often than before, when questioned he'd either brush it off or yell at you. He wanted to deny that anything was even wrong._

 _But he had heard Spark crying to himself when he thought that he was alone and people couldn't hear him. He heard his son telling himself that he needed to work harder, push himself more, and he didn't think that his son was talking about his job._

 _Not only was Spark acting different, but Spark's body was changing as well. He was losing weight, and while some might say that it'd do some good for the stout family, it wasn't like someone to just suddenly start losing weight the way Spark was. They were in no way starving as they were a neon family, so to Coaxial and his wife and younger son, it just made no sense._

 _The three of them ate their meal in silence, leaving a plate out for Spark in case he showed back up soon. All three of them were hoping that he'd appear back soon and eat his food, but the father could tell that they were thinking the exact same thing that he was thinking. That Spark wasn't going to eat his food and that they should just place it in the fridge._

 _They had just finished their plates when they heard the front door opening. Coaxial stood from his seat and went to the front entrance of the house, and saw thirteen year old Spark Gambel kicking off his filthy set of shoes. He also noticed that Spark was breathing heavily and that he was covered in sweat. The clothes he was wearing were also stained with large puddles of bodily condensation as well._

 _"Where were you, Spark?" The father sternly asked with a glare._

 _"Out." Spark simply answered as he used a dry part of his shirt to wipe his face._

 _"Out where?"_

 _"Out." Spark repeated before he walked into the kitchen. Coaxial followed closely behind him. Spark passed the plate full of food that was meant for him without even so much as looking at it before he got to the sink and filled a tall glass with water._

 _"What were you doing while you were, out?" Coaxial asked before Spark had a chance to even take a sip of water._

 _"What does it matter?" His son asked before he started to gulp down the clear liquid. As soon as the water entered his system, even more beads of sweat formed on his skin. His hair was glued to his forehead thanks to the sweat, and Spark appeared to shine, that's how profusely he was sweating._

 _Spark finished the glass in four large gulps before he filled the glass up a second time._

 _"It matters to us, Spark," Coaxial answered harshly. "It's been over three hours since school ended and we hear nothing of you until now? You can't stop disappearing like this, it's zap chaining for us."_

 _"Well is shouldn't zap chain you," Spark growled. "I'm fine, I'm here, so stop pestering me about my health. I know what I'm doing."_

 _"And just what is it that you're doing?" Coaxial demanded, wanting to know what his son was up to in the hopes that it would help him._

 _"None of your god damn business." The teenager snarled before he turned his back to the adult and made his way out of the kitchen. "Just leave me alone."_

 _"Aren't you going to have dinner, Spark?" Plug asked before Spark quickly replied._

 _"No. I'm not hungry."_

* * *

Spark was different from the rest of the family.

Not just in the physical sense, but in the mental sense as well. While most of the family liked where they were in society, Spark didn't share that opinion. Sure he liked that he was part of a neon family and that they were starving and having a hard life like most of the district, but at the same time, Spark seemed to hate it. Sometimes, he even seemed to detest it.

And then there was the fact that Spark would want to hang with those that weren't in the same social class as him. While neons usually stuck together, Spark was of a different nature. That wasn't to say that Spark couldn't be around other neons, but he wanted to be with the dims instead. For what reason Coaxial didn't know, but it didn't seem to be doing Spark any harm, so he didn't try to change his son. Coaxial figured that Spark would learn in time that not everyone in the district felt the same way as him, as he knew that dims and neons seldomly got along with each other thanks to their different life styles.

Which is why he wasn't surprised when his son figured out that the dim kids rejected him. It wasn't too hard for them to figure it out, honestly. Most neons were more on the pudgy side while the dims were skinny.

It didn't stop Spark from trying to make friends with them either. Even when they bullied him and made him cry on more than one occasion, Spark still somehow wanted to be friends with them.

When Coaxial asked why he couldn't just be friends with the other neons, Spark told him that he didn't like the other neons for various reasons. One of those reasons being that they seemed more stuck up than anything else. But even if Spark didn't like the other neons, the father surely thought that they were better than the dims that were bullying his son.

His other son, Charge, was doing well, being friends with those in his social stats and doing just fine. He kept his distance from the dims, and the dims left him alone. Coaxial couldn't understand why Spark couldn't do the same. Why couldn't he follow his younger brother's path? Charge seemed happy with life, while Spark, while not severely unhappy, wasn't exactly joyful either. He couldn't understand why Spark thought that the dims were so damn special.

Eventually, Spark began to change. At first he and his wife thought that it was just a part of Spark becoming a teenager, even if he was only twelve years old.

Spark became sensitive, he started to doubt his looks, he got upset more easily, and he seemed to hate himself as well. Normal things of being a teenager. But then Coaxial and his wife started to notice that there were some things that weren't normal, such as Spark wanting to miss meals and Spark wanting to go outside often. In addition to that, Spark would often stay out later than usual, not returning home for hours on end. It soon didn't become uncommon for Spark to return home drenched in sweat and out of breath.

It wasn't that much later when Spark began to lose weight, and he began to look more and more like someone from the dim part of the district instead of his neon heritage.

Spark would never tell them what he was doing or why, and would get upset when questioned. Nobody knew what he was doing, but Coaxial didn't think that it was anything good as Spark would stay in his room and cry to himself sometimes.

After some investigation, the father eventually sheed some light on the mystery. When he looked into Spark's room one day when Spark wasn't around, he saw dirty dishes and small boxes of food hidden away in various places.

And after talking to Watt, one of Spark's only neon friends, he learned that Spark had taken a vast interest in exercising. Running was Spark's apparent favorite, as Spark would do that the most often. Spark would exercise a ridiculous amount after eating what little he ate, if he even ate at all, or even if he just felt like it. That, and Spark hated it when people called him fat, or any variation of that word. It would upset him and cause him to go for a run, or stop him from eating.

Coaxial confronted his eldest son and demanded some answers, but Spark refused to give any, and when the father told his son that he was worried about him because he was looking more and more like a dim person, Spark waved him off and told him that he was fine. That nothing was happening and that he only wanted to get stronger so that he could be more useful at his job.

But as more and more time went on and Spark missed more and more meals, the family became increasingly worried for him.

Spark lost weight and was becoming more muscular than any of his other family members, and even most of the neons. But while Spark was wiry and muscular, his health was degenerating. He looked unhealthy, he looked tired, he looked lifeless, and it zap chained Coaxial to no end. Spark's face looked thin, he looked like he was on the verge of sunburn, and Coaxial wondered what as under those baggy clothes that Spark liked to wear. Was he so thin under that shirt that he could count his ribs? Or was he fine and just had a flat gut?

Coaxial got his answer one day when Spark gave out a blood curdling scream from his room. Coaxial then found Spark running down in distraught. Spark was holding a handful of hair in his hand and told him that it had fallen off his head.

That's when they went to see the medics, and it turned out that Spark was severely malnourished, his teeth and gums were rotting, he was suffering from chronic dehydration, and other complications that included two mental health diagnoses.

That was only one year ago, and Coaxial felt that Spark was beginning to recover, but six months ago, the Capitol announced the quarter quell, and life started another cycle of pain for him and his family. He had to watch as Spark fell back into that dark place of his, just when he was beginning to recover as well. It hurt him immensely, and when Spark got reaped, it only hurt him some more.

Spark was already dying, and it seemed that the aviators only wanted to quicken his death.

* * *

 _She had waited for a minute and a half._

 _Admittedly, it wasn't very long, but Vida Amplitude knew that one of the virtues of life was patience. And for what she was waiting for, she knew that she couldn't just rush it and jump the line. Not only would it lightning rod her, it would also zap chain this entire line. It would cause more trouble than it was worth, and Vida did not want to become a lighting rod. So here she was, patiently waiting for the line to move forward, at the ever slow pace that it was going, and wait until it was her turn to receive the prize at the end._

 _Her friend didn't share that thought as she started to shove past everyone that was ahead of her. Vida became increasingly worried as Anna Leptick became more and more of the class lightning rod, and more and more people started to get annoyed with her. Most of them just shot glares at her, but more than a few shouted at her and demanded that she go back to her place in line, but Anna continued to move forward despite the protests. It was only a matter of time before someone started to get more than just a little annoyed._

 _"Okay," one of their classmates blurted out before he got in the way of Anna. "What the hell?"_

 _Even though he was glaring it her and he was taller than her, Anna just looked at him in the face before she stated simply._

 _"Your in my way." Anna then tried to move around him, but the taller boy stepped in her way, blocking her again. "Move!" Anna demanded, but again, the boy didn't._

 _"What makes you so special that you can just-" he started, but Anna quickly talked over him._

 _"I don't have time for this." She then tried to shove him away, and while she moved him, she didn't completely succeed. Vida knew that there was going to be trouble if someone didn't stop them. There were no teachers around as they had figured that nothing could go wrong with such a simple task. It was simple, put your electronic creations on the table and leave a note on who had created what. It was simple, it was something that the eight year old class could do, it wasn't something that Anna could do._

 _Vida went up to her friend and gently grabbed her by the shoulder._

 _"Just wait, Anna." She begged, not wanting to become a secondary lightning rod. She hoped that her friend would just calm down and get back in line and wait, like everyone else._

 _"I'm tired of waiting." Anna declared without looking at her friend. She continued to stare at the tall boy, and while she was standing still, Vida could feel Anna's body trembling. It wasn't one of fear, Vida knew better, it was Anna getting ready to move. Because Anna didn't like being still. It was one of the things that got people to look at Anna like she was just one big distraction. And she was. It was hard to pay attention to the teacher when Anna was banging her feet on the floor, or when her hands were slapping the desk, or when she would talk out of turn. Vida was worried about what Anna would do next. And if Vida was thinking what Anna was thinking, then Vida knew that she had to do something._

 _Vida looked at the taller boy and started to negotiate with him._

 _"How about we give you-"_

 _"You aren't giving him anything." Anna told her. "Here's the deal you big fat wall," Anna said to the tall boy, to which Vida winced and took a step back. "Move. Now." She demanded with a snarl._

 _"Or what?" He challenged, to which then Anna punched him in the throat. The attack was unexpected, and their classmate fell to his knees and grabbed his throat, unable to breathe._

 _"That." Anna answered before she stepped around him and placed her device on the desk, wrote her name on a piece of paper, and left the classroom._

 _Vida had expected that, and she was disappointed with herself that she didn't stop it. She knew that something like that was going to happen, and yet, she couldn't even start to try and prevent it._

 _"I'm sorry," Vida sincerely said to her injured classmate, who was just beginning to recover and start to breathe again. "I tried to stop her but-"_

 _"Obviously didn't try hard enough," the injured boy spat at her bitterly. "Why'd you let her do it?"_

 _"I didn't."_

 _"Sure you didn't." The taller boy huffed before he got to his feet and angerly placed his item on the desk and wrote his name on the piece of paper. Vida could swear she heard him wanting to do harm to Anna, but she wasn't sure. She was going to warn Anna when she could._

 _Vida got back in her place in line and sighed._

 _"Hey, Vida," the girl ahead of her said. Vida looked at her. "Anna is such a spoiled brat, thinking she can do whatever she wants, whenever she wants. She's so damn annoying as well. Why are you even still friends with her?"_

* * *

Vida had wondered that for a long time.

For years she had wondered why she was still friends with Anna. After all, she seemed to like a living lighting rod at times, even when she wasn't trying to be one. It just came with her wanting to do something all the time, and when she wanted to do something, she didn't think through with it, she, more than often, just did or said what she wanted to do or say. And she was always on the move.

She was impatient, loud, disruptive, and hyperactive. It was nothing short of what the personification of lighting rod would be. And yet, Vida stuck with her, even if she was different. Vida, at first, felt that she had to be loyal to Anna because she had been her first friend. Her best friend. And even though she wanted to leave her, to not be at the center of every disaster that seemed to happen at school, or somewhere else in the district, Vida still stuck with her. Despite what other kids told her, she still stuck with Anna.

It was hard for her. She felt that she might have it harder than Anna's parents at times, since Anna wanted to be out of the house more often than not. When Anna was with her, she had to risk embarrassment from Anna's impulsive comments, the way that she'd run around everywhere, disregard people's personal space, she was someone that was always in the limelight. But not always in a good way.

Still, Vida found that she could have fun with Anna. While other kids were hesitant on whether or not they wanted to do something, Anna wouldn't hesitate to try something new. And some of the things Anna said and did, it was quite entertaining at times.

Vida then learned why Anna was the way she was when they were ten. Anna started to take medications to control her symptoms, and for a while, they helped her. She became more in control of herself. Everyone liked that Anna better. Everyone but Anna herself.

She would stop taking her meds, and she'd become the little girl Vida had meet for the first time again. Anna's parents would make Anna take her meds again, and for a while, Anna would, but then she'd stop again. It became a cycle with no end in sight. Vida sided with Anna's parents, but even she couldn't keep Anna straight.

Anna told her that she hated the way it made her feel, that it took away her favorite ability. Vida said that it was for the better. Anna didn't agree. At least at first.

It was during their teenage years that her symptoms started to really pull her down. It was a conductor point in Anna's life.

She couldn't make any friends, she couldn't do school, she couldn't keep down a job, Anna's life was going down hill. Vida still stuck with Anna though. Even as nearly everyone else was leaving her, she still stuck with her. And with encouragement, Vida and Anna's parents finally managed to get her to stick to her medication.

But other problems arose as well. Anna was always a moody girl, but she seemed to in even less control of her emotions than usual. It worried Vida, she wondered what was wrong with Anna.

She later discovered that Anna was doing illegal stimulants. Anna said that it was better than the legal medication. It made her feel better and had the same effects. But Vida could see that the deadly substance was destroying her friend.

Vida confronted Anna many times about it, and just when she was about to give up, Anna said that she'd quit it. She did. And Vida was extremely glad that she did.

And when Anna asked her to marry her, suddenly mind you, Vida actually had to think about it. Her friends had told her that she suspected that Anna was going to ask her, but she didn't believe them. Thought that they were crazy. Turned out that they were true, and that was only one of the reasons Vida had to stop and think.

She had seen people in the district pop the question to their significant other, and most of the time, they, without hesitation, answered. Vida had to think about it, and Anna waited.

Vida thought of how she had always been there for Anna, but she wondered what Anna had ever done for her. She remembered the words that a girl had spoken to her ages ago. 'Why are you still even friends with her?'

Anna. Disruptive, impulsive, hyperactive, emotional, human lighting rod, human zap chain. That was what defined Anna in District Five, and it was true. She was all those things. But through all those things, Anna had changed Vida and forced her to become someone that she wasn't. Someone that Vida wanted to be. Vida had found that over the years, she became braver, standing up to people she thought were wrong. Forced into activities that she wasn't comfortable with, making her braver. She no longer cared what people thought about her when she was with Anna, or without her. It caused her to becoming more confident and out going. Vida had learned to deal with stress and problems better than most teenagers.

Vida looked at the screen in front of her, watching and listening to what the aviators said about her fiancee, and even though she had gotten reaped, Vida still didn't regret her decision.

Would Anna die in the arena? Many thought so. But Anna wasn't dead yet, and as long as she was still alive, Vida was going to believe in her. Even if she knew the odds weren't in her favor.

 **District Six**

 _"This is all your fault!"_

 _If there were any combination of words that could hurt and confuse Torque Tarbeck he didn't know them. His wife, Piston, was berating him again because of how their son, Diesel, was acting. Torque couldn't understand why the actions of his thirteen year old son were the fault of whatever the hell he was or wasn't doing. He was trying his best to help his son, but whatever he seemed to do were incorrect, and nothing could please his wife as she got more and more frustrated with both he and Diesel._

 _"What do you mean this is all my fault?" Torque yelled at his wife, trying to think of a way that he had contributed to making his son the way he was now. He couldn't think of anything and was gladly waiting to hear her explanation. If there was one in the first place._

 _"It's exactly as I said! It's your fault Diesel is acting this way!" She answered uselessly, which didn't help things any._

 _"How?" Torque questioned harshly. "How is this all my fault?"_

 _"You let our son hang around your father too much," Piston answered with venom laced in her words. "And because of that, Diesel started to think like him! Admit it, it's because of your father that cranked Diesel to be like this!"_

 _Torque couldn't believe what he was hearing. To think that she thought that his father was the cause of Diesel's condition, like he had passed it on like mixing oil with water. If that were true, than he himself would have acted like Diesel had been. After all, he had been with his father for much longer than Diesel had been._

 _"My dad's not the cause of our son's strange behavior!" He told his wife, defending his father._

 _"Oh yeah?" She countered. "Then how is it that Diesel is beginning to think like him. Paranoid about things that aren't true and sensing things that aren't there? Your dad thinks that aliens are trying to kidnap him and that everything associated with radio and televisions has a hidden message hidden inside of it! And don't even get me started on what your father hears when nobody else can hear them! Face it, he's corrupted our son with his beliefs!"_

 _"Then why don't I believe that there's a hidden camera in my head where the aviators use it to spy on us or something?" Torque countered as he jabbed the side of his head with his finger. "If my dad has managed to corrupt our son's mind, why hasn't he dented me yet?"_

 _"Diesel's too young to understand-" she started, but Torque didn't allow her to finish as he roughly interjected._

 _"I was too young to understand that my dad was dented, a wheel, and an axle long before he told me about his false beliefs and the unreal sounds he was hearing. I thought that he was telling me the truth for a long time, and yet, I still didn't end up like him. It's not because of my father that Diesel ended up like him!"_

 _"You're just defending him because he's part of your family," the wife huffed as she crossed her arms across her chest, glaring at Torque. "If you weren't clouded by your judgement, you'd see that it was because of him that our son ended up like him."_

 _Torque couldn't take much more of the conversation. He was sick of sputtering with her to deal with Diesel, sick of arguing with her, sick of her playing the blame game, sick of a lot of things that had to do with her and Diesel._

 _Torque nodded his head towards the boxes that lay by her feet._

 _"Are you going to stay here all day blaming everyone but yourself for our son's misfortune, or are you going to make good on your threat and leave us when your know that our son's a wheel?"_

 _Piston bared her teeth at him as she gave out a growl before she answered._

 _"Don't you try to guilt trip me Torque Tarbeck, I've already made up my mind. I can't stay here any longer. Not with Diesel the way he is."_

 _"Because giving up when things gets tough is always the best answer." Torque told her with extreme sarcasm._

 _"Because I can't live like this," Piston told him seriously. "If you think that living like an axle is a way to live, then be my guest. I am not going to live the rest of my life looking after a kid that can't look after himself, or tell what's real and what's not real."_

 _"You're pathetic."_

* * *

That was the last thing Torque had ever said to his wife.

Well, ex-wife now. She had divorced him and re-married someone else within the district. Married to someone who didn't have a dented child that saw ghosts and was still scared of the dark, even when they were seventeen years old. Torque saw her sometimes, but he never spoke to her, and she never spoke to him. He never did feel like talking to her anyway, because of the way that she had abandoned him so easily because of their dented son. It also didn't help that she had walked out in Diesel's time of need, when he was the most wheeled.

When Diesel was twelve years old, Torque had seen the signs of Diesel turning into his father. Diesel had lost interest in life, stopped caring for himself and allowed his appearance to deteriorate. He began angry more easily and wouldn't want to look in a mirror.

As minor as those things were, he decided to take his son to the medics and see if there was something that they could do for him. They then diagnosed Diesel with a mental condition and gave him medications to combat his symptoms.

It was a sputter. They didn't seem to help Diesel, and Diesel, in a desperate attempt to try and regulate his mental state, would abuse the medications the medics gave him. That was a sputter as well.

It was months later when Diesel became even more like his grandfather. He would have bizarre beliefs and have trouble sensing what was real and what wasn't. Like his grandfather, Diesel would hear things that weren't real. But unlike his grandfather, he would also see and feel things that weren't even there.

That part scared Torque the most, as Diesel seemed worse off than his father, and at only thirteen years old, Torque didn't even want to know what Diesel was experiencing. He sputtered at keeping Diesel in a state of normality as his condition worsened over time due to him refusing to take his meds.

The medics had removed his old diagnoses and given him a new one when the new symptoms arrived and had given him a fresh bottle of new medications, and it would help him a little, if he actually took them. Piston however, got more and more frustrated with each passing day, and eventually, she moved out of the house, abandoning her husband and her son in their time of need.

Torque at first tried to convince her to stay with them, but he didn't need to bother as he quickly found out that she had been planning on leaving them for months. She had found someone new, and they didn't have any problems that amounted to what Diesel was causing.

Torque wondered what kind of mother would abandon her wheeled child, but he quickly found out that plenty of men and women around the district did that very thing. He knew of the economic situation in Panem, and how it was taxing in both the mind and the money to care for a mentally ill child. And many said that if he were shiny, he'd either leave Diesel, or kill him. Torque was not that cold hearted to do that to his dented son. That, and he had seen his mother take care of his dented father until the die she died.

He had found that taking care of his wheel of a child was tougher than he ever thought possible. He had to stop Diesel from harming himself and had to practically live for him. Devoting his time to making sure that his son continued to live and didn't get tempted to kill himself or harm others because of his scattered thoughts.

It paid a toll on Torque as he found himself waking up in the middle of the night to screaming and had to continuously monitor his son, wondering if it was the day that something would happen and one of them was going to make it to the next day.

Torque had a new found respect for his mother, having to deal with his father for all those years and keeping her sanity at the same time as she raised him into the person he was today. Things weren't perfect in the household, but Torque guessed that things would have been a lot worse without his mother around.

Self harm, unkempt appearances, slipping from reality, unable to take care of themselves, potentially putting others in danger, Diesel and his father, they were both the same, but different at the same time. Torque knew that without someone to watch over them, they'd either kill themselves or kill someone else, even if there was that tiny chance, they didn't want to take the risk. And though the two of them were more of a danger to themselves than others, it didn't stop the public from thinking that they were dangerous. Which, to be fair, they were, but not as much as they thought they were.

Torque knew that when he was still living with his mother and father that the one in the most danger was his father, followed by his mother, followed by himself. And though it was mostly yelling that he and his mother had experienced from his father, there was still always that risk that he'd mentally snap completely.

With Diesel, Torque was the one in the most danger aside from Diesel himself. Nobody was even near the same amount of danger they were in.

Though his father had died soon after his mother had passed, he wondered if his father had finally found the peace in death that he hadn't had in life for decades.

As of late, Diesel had been diagnosed with three mental disorders and was quickly dying due to the deadly lifestyle he was partaking in. Smoking and drugs in an attempt to rid himself of his symptoms, even if just for a few moments. He hated his medications, and the voices in his head certainly didn't help him try and get better either.

It was cruel for him to think about, but Torque was resting for the first time in five years. And while he worried about Diesel he had to wonder if Diesel would find the peace in death that he couldn't have in life. Just like his father.

* * *

 _"Mom! Dad! Lexus is dying!"_

 _At the sound of that, she ran for her youngest daughter, her mind racing to what could have gone wrong. The kids were playing, just playing, what had her boys done to their sister to make her this way?_

 _The mother made her way towards her child until she finally reached her daughter, and saw her daughter, wide eyed and desperately gasping for breath that she couldn't get. She was clutching her chest and had a look of terror on her face. Cara instantly felt her worry multiply ten fold as she saw that her boys weren't exaggerating, like they usually did._

 _Cara shook Lexus with both hands as she asked her._

 _"Lexus! Lexus! What's wrong?" Lexus couldn't even answer as she gagged out something that couldn't be understood. Thick beads of sweat started to form on Lexus' face as it turned red, telling Cara that Lexus was running out of air. Cara turned to her oldest child, Turbo, and demanded that he get some help by either a medic or a peacekeeper._

 _As much as the district despised the peacekeepers, they were actually trained in first aid, and while they were no medics, they were better trained for it than the average district citizen. And if Cara had to choose between her pride and what the district would think about her calling on a peacekeeper for help, and letting her daughter die for some stupid reason, Cara choose to damn her pride and reputation and let her daughter live._

 _Cara did everything she could to comfort her daughter and allow her to live. She tried to make her daughter more comfortable and placed her in a better position to breathe, but that didn't seem to help Lexus as all it did was seem to send her into a sense of even more panic._

 _Cara looked at her daughter and saw that there was no blood on or around her, so she figured that she didn't have to worry too much. It didn't help calm her down however. And her daughter was still dying as she clutched her chest even tighter._

 _Cara held her daughter and spoke calming words, hoping that help would arrive soon. After all, Lexus was only six years old, and she was too young to die because of some stupid accident between her and her brothers._

 _She swore that she would get answers from both Turbo and Ford and give them a lecture that they'd never forget. It was the least they deserved for putting their sister in a life or death position._

* * *

It turned out that her sons never did anything to Lexus.

All they had been doing was playing with pipes and building things when Lexus had spontaneously fallen to the ground, lost her ability to breathe, and started to have pain in her chest.

When the peacekeepers had arrived, they had examined her, and determined that she hadn't been physically injured, but that she still needed to be taken to the medics. And thus, Lexus had been taken to the medics, where it was discovered that she was in no real danger.

The peacekeepers were pissed that their time had been wasted, and so were the medics, that told Cara that Lexus was probably looking for some kind of attention. Lexus swore that she wasn't and that all that happened was that she had gotten scared, to which only seemed to prove the medics right.

Cara told Lexus that she shouldn't do things like that, but Lexus had told her that she had felt like she was dying as she lost her ability to breathe. Cara didn't believe her. She felt horrible for not believing her daughter, because even after several more times that it happened, Cara still didn't believe her.

Lexus then began to get worried about everything for no apparent reason. She worried on her way to school, at school, on her way home, at home, she worried everywhere. She would complain about headaches and ask if everything was going to be all right if she did something, or even if she did a stall and drop.

Lexus was scared to leave the house, she was scared of people, she was scared of events, scared of a lot of things. And while Cara and her husband could see how a child could be nervous about things, especially a child as young as Lexus had been, they couldn't explain how Lexus seemed terrified of even the smallest things. Insignificant things that shouldn't even worry someone.

And though she had her moments of being unable to breathe in public on more than one occasion, they still thought that she was trying to gain attention for some reason.

But they noticed that Lexus wasn't just like those attention seeking children that they sometimes saw roaming the district, as their acts seemed deliberate and calculated. Lexus did it at any time for any reason.

Lexus also didn't do it for any kind of personal gain it seemed. She didn't do it to gain sympathy, didn't do it to gain friends, or even help.

Lexus didn't make very many friends as school as she was scared that she was going to make a fool of herself in front of people, and often worried if people were going to like her in general. She was too scared to talk to people, and she would often go out of her way to even avoid people.

The friends that she did have at school would say that she couldn't stay concentrated in school as she was always fearing something and would be easily startled by someone calling her name. Cara had also noticed that Lexus, while she was a shiny child, she would re-check her homework several times, and still not be satisfied with her own work until someone had reassured her multiple times that she had done a good job at it. It seemed that even then Lexus doubted herself.

Cara also noted that Lexus had trouble sleeping, and that would only make her more scared.

It seemed that nothing could calm down Lexus, and it eventually became so bad that Lexus had quit school at the age of twelve. That was when both Cara and her husband decided to see the medics about Lexus, where they diagnosed her with her disorder and gave her the medications that were needed to help her.

And though Lexus was still a bundle of built up panic inside of her, the medications did help her control herself. Cara had seen a decrease of Lexus being unable to breathe and saw that Lexus was able to concentrate and actually not worry as much.

She was happy for her daughter. But then the quarter quell announcement came, and when the peacekeepers took away her daughter's meds, they also took away her ability to cope.

Lexus' job performance began to drop and she would have many instances of dropping to the ground like she was going to die.

Cara didn't know how her daughter was going to handle the stress of the arena, and that made her terrified.

 **A/N: Lexus is a hard one for me. So is Diesel. I don't think they're as good as Anna and Spark. Hope you enjoy neither the less.**

 **Why I've been gone; Military work mostly, but there are other reasons I haven't felt like writing, one of them being the chronic headaches that I've been experiencing for a long while now. My laptop seems to hate me as it seems to want to reset itself when I'm writing and nothing else. It also turns out that I have a vitamin deficiency as well as the feeling of fatigue everywhere I go as well as waking up earlier and earlier in the morning. The vitamin deficiency may or may not have something to do with it.**

 **I also had a scare on the phone when a scam told me that I was being hunted for tax fraud, which made me remember something from nearly two months ago that was unpaid and could have had serious consequences for my future.**

 **I am learning how to make my right foot walk properly again because of the fracture and I learned that I may have twisted it at one time or another and that hasn't fully recovered apparently. Also, my already delicate ability to concentrate has gone down along with my motivation.**

 **My family that's living with me is getting frustrated with the workers working on our house and they might not be done with us until after the winter.**

 **My dad is getting mysterious injuries that may or may not be related to his heart medicine and my mom is going through PTSD and hates being unable to work as, unlike my brother and I, our parents are working people and don't like having nothing to do. It doesn't help that our mom has developed stimulation overload, and while I can deal with it since it's been present my entire life, my mom's not used to it, putting additional burden onto her.**

 **Another thing that happened to my brother and I is that some punks tried to rob us for our money and my brother's medication in broad daylight. We managed to escape, but not uninjured. That same day, but at night, I went to a nightclub to drink, and lo and behold, I find those three punks that tried to rob us. Long story short, we fought, I lost, they got hurt.**

 **Anyway, that's just so you guys know why I haven't been on for a while, and why I might have longer gaps between updates. Sorry for the long ass A/N.**


	24. Family Struggles Part 4

**District Seven**

 _"He doesn't want to go to bed again."_

 _Willow Greene didn't want to hear that phrase again. Yet it had become as routine as waking in the morning. And not only was it affecting her mentally, it was affecting her son in more than just the mental form. It was also affecting his performance at school and the way he managed himself._

 _His grades were dropping and he didn't take care of himself to the degree he had before._

 _And while more than a few people had told her that it was a normal part of growing up, Willow and her husband, Barker, quickly figured out that what Carver was doing wasn't normal. Sure thirteen year old kids would say that they didn't want to go to bed as early as they used to, but that wasn't the case with Carver. Instead, he refused to go to sleep. He dreaded sleep because of what apparently awaited him._

 _"He's been up for two days already." Willow said as she looked at the room that contained her son. He was sitting in a chair, trying to decide what job he'd try out for in the near future. Dreading the entire thing. "Definitely sliding against the grain."_

 _"Indeed." Barker agreed, nodding his head._

 _For over a month, Carver tried to get as little sleep as he could get away with. Because every time he went to sleep he would almost certainly have vivid night terrors. He'd wake up screaming and covered in sweat, acting like he had nearly died because of what he had dreamed of._

 _At first she thought that it was because of the accident that he had experienced. After all, falling from a tall tree and breaking your right leg wasn't easy for anyone to handle. Just the thought was enough for some people to not even attempt to become a branch trimmer. But for someone that had barely turned thirteen, Willow couldn't even imagine what it'd be like for Carver._

 _The safety equipment was supposed to prevent something like that from happening. It had malfunctioned somehow, and allowed Carver to plummet to the ground. He was probably re-living that moment every night. It was a horrifying thought._

 _She didn't know how long the nightmares would last, but time didn't seem to be helping her son any. And though he tried to function properly, there was still a gap in what he was now, and what he had been._

 _He was always tired, always distracted, and to a degree, was always sad. And nothing that she, her husband, their kids, or any of Carver's friends did could bring him out of the miserable state that he was in. No matter how much support Carver got, he couldn't seem to recover._

 _"We've got to do something about this." Willow told her husband, not wanting Carver to fall into darkness because of his injury. The Capitol had allowed Carver time to heal, but his time was nearly up, and they wouldn't allow Carver to just lay around and get paid for it. No. They'd cut of his meager benefits and he'd be expected to go back to work. And work effectively._

 _"What can we do?" Barker asked. Willow had no clue, but there had to be something that the two of them could do._

Carver had found a way to cope with his nightmares.

Unfortunately, it created a downward spiral of its own, as Willow and Barker had swiftly found out.

At first they thought that Carver had recovered. He had seemed better, more willing to go to sleep, and the couple couldn't have been more pleased with the results. Sure they had seen that Carver was no longer a morning person, but they thought it was just a phase of growing up.

How wrong they were.

It didn't take them long to discover that Carver had been consuming alcohol to get himself to sleep. He explained to them that if he drank enough, he'd pass out and he'd have no haunting dreams that night.

Willow didn't like it, and neither did her husband. Not only was it wrong for a thirteen year old to drink alcohol, but Carver was drinking it heavily every night in order to fight off the nightmares.

The couple often heard puking, and screaming some nights weren't uncommon. They tried to get him off of it, but Carver refused to give up his method, because it was the only thing, in his mind, that worked for him.

Carver had gotten rid of his nightmares, but with it came consequences that he refused to see. Willow saw Carver's grades fall until he decided to quit school all together. He justified it by saying that he didn't need a complete education to work in the lumber industry. After all, how much schooling did you need to swing an axe and chop down a tree?

Sure he wouldn't be able to get a higher paying job, but he was making a source of income to help the family. And at thirteen, that was all he cared about.

At fourteen, Carver constantly reeked of alcohol. No matter how much he bathed, there was always the scent of alcohol around him. Willow had always hated that smell, and now it was permeated in the house thanks to Carver's body odor and the bottles inside his room.

But more than that, Willow could see that Carver was spending huge amounts of money on illegally obtained alcohol. It wasn't much at first, but still more than she was pleased with. But it eventually climbed up to him spending nearly his entire pay on booze.

She tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn't. She was powerless to get him to change his methods.

As time went on, Carver's health declined. Sure he was big and muscular, but that didn't mean that he was healthy. Because if Carver didn't have at least a beer in the morning, he'd get the shakes, get confused, start to sweat profusely, get nauseous, and other symptoms that told everyone in the family that he was dependent on alcohol.

He was sick. Not like having the flu kind of sick, but his insides didn't seem to be functioning normally.

And not only that, but it affected his friends and family as well. Carver's friends eventually drifted away from him, leaving Carver with just his family. Carver was devastated at first, but he got over it. All he needed were a few drinks.

Soon, it was just Carver and his family, and while Willow and her husband deeply cared for their son, they did not like how he was living his life. Destroying himself with alcohol, drifting from job to job, spending his income on said destructive substances. And the disturbed nights had become routine as well. In fact, they were more worried for their son when they didn't hear anything from his room at night.

Willow always worried that Carver was going to drown in his own vomit, or decide to jump off the roof or something.

She wanted Carver to get off the alcohol, but despite her best efforts, nothing could stop him.

Willow worried for her son, because when he got into the arena, there wasn't going to be any alcohol, and the withdrawal wasn't going to be pleasant.

* * *

 _"Ivy, why aren't you in your room?" Berry Marlowe asked as she looked at her daughter, who was just staring out the window. It bothered her that, yet again, Ivy wasn't trying to sleep, or at the very least, in her own room._

 _"I can't sleep, mom," Ivy responded, not bothering to turn her head away from the dark horizon. "So why does it matter if I'm in my room or in here? Preferably, I'd like to see the sunrise from here rather than in my room."_

 _"The living room does offer the best view, I guess." Berry answered, not knowing what else to say other than maybe 'go back to bed.' But she knew that it was pointless. Because as she had seen, Ivy might not be able to sleep for five or six days at a time. Sometimes it was only three days, but it was never more than six. Ivy could get really strange when it came to those stages._

 _Ivy tried to fight her restless nights at times, but it really didn't matter in the end since all she'd do was lay in bed. Awake._

 _She couldn't fight it. But at least she had gotten help for it before it was too late. Because of her problem, Berry got her to see the medics, and they quickly gave her a diagnoses and gave her some medication. It seemed to not have kicked in yet, though the mother was still hopeful as it was only the first night she had gotten them. In addition, she didn't want Ivy to end up like her husband._

 _Drugs and alcohol wasn't a path she wanted her daughter to go down as she had seen the consequences of what those deadly items could do to someone._

 _It made her worry, but at least Ivy accepted the problem rather than denied it. Maybe it was because Ivy had seen what happened to her father as well and didn't want to go down that path as well._

 _First came sluggish responses, then memory impairment, followed by irritation. And at it's worse, hallucinations. Ivy didn't like it, and she wanted it fixed._

 _Berry was happy that Ivy had accepted her condition and the help that she needed._

How she wished that things could have remained the same after that.

Looking at her husband in the miserable state he was in, he didn't even know that the television was talking about his daughter. Berry felt sick, knowing that if Ivy didn't die in the arena, she was more than likely going to end up like him. An empty shell of what he once was.

In Ivy's desperate attempt to medicate herself after the peacekeepers took away the medication to help her with her condition, Ivy quickly turned to the easily available options near her. Namely alcohol and drugs.

Thanks to her husband's winnings, they weren't short on cash to buy up those substances.

Ivy may have easily accepted her condition when it was first starting out, but she didn't accept going back to the way things were before the meds.

From there, Berry saw a downward spiral from her daughter. Diagnosed at age twelve, the only thing stopping Ivy from accomplishing anything was herself. And even then it didn't seem like that much of a big deal as she tried her very best in school and achieved good enough marks and seemed to have a good social circle going on.

If you didn't know, you wouldn't have suspected that anything was even wrong with her. That she was just having an off day when she let her symptoms get the better of her.

But even through everything Ivy had, that wasn't enough to stop Ivy to get into drug use when she became desperate in the last six months. And soon, that was all Ivy seemed focused on. Getting a fix that would help her fall asleep. At sixteen, Ivy was throwing away her future, all in the name of getting some sleep.

Berry knew the importance of sleep, but she didn't want her daughter to go to sleep, permanently.

 **District Eight**

 _"That's right!" Stitch Outgo roared at the fleeing teenagers. "You better run! You bunch of pussies!"_

 _"That's enough." A feminine voice told him as he felt a hand plant itself onto his shoulder. Stitch sighed, knowing that he had gone far enough. Maybe too far when it came to handling those bullies. But still, he felt a fiery rage for what they had done to his youngest sibling._

 _He had wanted to do more than just hurt them. He wanted to crush them, both mentally and physically. To break their bones and render them unable to work ever again. Take away their ability to try something like that ever again. Make them unable to support whoever they were living with. Unable to continue on living the meaningless existence they were living. But instead, he let them go, because he knew he had to._

 _Not for his own personal benefit, but for someone else's._

 _Shacking his aching hands, Stitch turned to the reason they were aching in the first place. In the fetal position, curled up in a dirty, pitiful ball, was his youngest sibling._

 _Sobbing and utterly defeated, Stream Outgo was badly injured due to the teenagers that had attacked him. They had found vulnerability in Stream at that moment, and they didn't hesitate to attack him._

 _Honestly, a bunch of kids, who Stitch had guessed had been fifteen or sixteen, or something like that, attacking a ten year old five to one. That was enough to get his blood boiling. But through all that anger, he had seen something that he hadn't expected._

 _His youngest sibling, the one that caused more fights than he thought possible, hadn't even attempted to defend himself against the ruthless assault. And he wanted to know why._

 _Stitch and Thimble turned and went towards their younger brother before helping him to his feet. He didn't resist, nor did he try to help them. He just didn't move, and that worried Stitch._

 _"Why didn't you try to defend yourself?" Stitch asked as he supported Stream with an arm around his middle while another arm made one of Stream's arms drag over his shoulder for added support. "I know you could have at least made them hesitate a little before we arrived here." From what Stitch had seen, none of the attackers had had a single injury to their name._

 _"Because I deserved it." Stream answered pitifully. Trickles of blood running from his mouth with cruel lacerations decorating his face in addition to the bruises that were beginning to swell._

 _"You didn't deserve something so savage." Thimble told him as she went to the opposite side of her little brother and helped Stitch drag Stream towards their home._

 _"But I did." Stream replied, spitting out a thick wad of blood and saliva. "They wanted revenge because I beat up their brothers and sisters."_

 _"They would have killed you," Thimble explained. "If we hadn't interfered, they would have killed you."_

 _"If that's what it would take to make things even a little bit more right in this world," Stream quietly said. "So be it."_

 _"Don't talk like that," Stitch told Stream as he adjusted his position. "Nobody deserves to die." Stitch knew the hypocrisy of his words as they exited his mouth. He may not have wanted to kill those kids, but he sure as hell didn't want to make their lives any better. And maybe, just maybe, if he had gone through with his plan, death would have been a mercy to those kids._

 _"Maybe I do," Stream told them. "I'm nothing but a burden to you guys. I get angry at everything and hurt people because of it. I just got expelled from school, and I'm sucking resources that could be used for everyone else in the family."_

 _"Nobody said that life was easy." Thimble said._

 _"But it could always be easier." Streamed countered._

Life wasn't easy, but they always found a way to make due.

Stitch knew that like a lot of other people in the district, their lives weren't perfect, and it certainly wasn't easy. Especially if you had a brother named Stream Outgo, a living, ticking time bomb that could go off at any moment and create destruction in the form of violence that consisted of both words and fists.

Nobody was safe from him, not kids, not teenagers, not adults, and certainly not his own family. There was a reason the Outgo home was devoid of nice things. They usually ended up destroyed. Not that it stopped them from wanting nice things, it's just that they knew that sooner or later, it was more than likely going to end up broken.

Fear ran thick in the household, as nobody knew what would set off the fiery rage of Stream.

Sure Stream always seemed angry with the way he seemingly glared at everyone and everything while also having a colourful vocabulary and was ready to fight at a moment's notice, but his rages were disappropriate and out of control. They were a whole other thing all together.

Even when he was young, it was beyond a simple temper tantrum. At four years old Stream was screaming while also throwing things and hitting people. Hell, Stitch remembered learning what a headbutt was the exact same day Stream headbutted one of his many siblings.

When Stream was six, yelling was common in the house and everyone was used to it. At seven, physical confrontations outside of the home became an almost daily occurrence.

People told his parents that they were bad parents and that they needed to discipline Stream. They tried and failed, because no matter what they did, Stream was just a wild child that they couldn't control.

When Stream was ten, both their parents died, and it was up to Stitch and Thimble to take their place. It was their turn to take care of their siblings even more than they already were. It stressed them out, and Stream wasn't making thing any easier.

Work, and the struggles of taking care of everyone in the family. Everyone had their part, but it was up to them, the two oldest siblings, to make sure that everyone kept on moving.

It was their job to make sure that their other siblings could take care of themselves. That they could cook and clean and generally take care of themselves, which to a degree, they could. But even with the six of them working tirelessly, it was a struggle to live in District Eight as a needle mouse in unsafe conditions.

It also didn't help that Stream got fired from many jobs because of his anger problem. Little issues made him blow up. People refused to hire him, refused to even associate with him. All of them believed that all he ever was was just a bomb waiting to go off. Hell, some of them even thought that he was looking for an excuse to go off.

The same year that their parents died, Stream got kicked out of school for causing one one hundred too many fights. Both physical and verbal. All the Outgo's had quit school for one reason or another, so it wasn't too much of a surprise. Besides, with Stream out of school, it meant that they wouldn't have to pay for an education and they could focus on making more money to hopefully live with a little more comfort.

Not that it made things much better.

They were all still living on the edge with barely enough money to support them. Things were tense around the household as everyone struggled mentally, physically, and financially.

And there were the fights that Stream got in. Dear lord, the fights. If there was one thing that Stitch and Thimble tried to cloth up the hardest, it was the fights Stream got into, because the peacekeepers had no mercy on anyone.

But if there was one thing that made them stick together, it was each other. Every one of them needed each other. And hell, they loved each other. Hard to believe, but they did.

They took care of each other. Even Stream, who the district saw as nothing but an asshole, cared about his siblings.

Sure Stream would fly into a blind rage and hit people and objects, but Stitch also heard him crying and heard Stream wonder why he was the way he was. He'd apologize profusely, begging them for forgiveness. And if there was anyone that hated Stream the most, it was Stream himself. And Stitch had heard Stream set himself off, punching walls and yelling at himself. Telling himself how worthless he was and how everyone hated him.

It hurt Stitch seeing and hearing his brother acting like that. Because even with all the things that happened with him, he did do acts of kindness around his family. It's just that nobody outside the family thought that Stream was capable of caring. But he was, and Stitch and his siblings saw it often.

Stream was later diagnosed with a disorder when Stitch and Thimble went to the medics to see if they could help their youngest brother in any way. The meds they gave helped a little, but it didn't help him completely. He was then diagnosed with a second disorder.

And while they didn't help completely, Stream had seemed like a new person. He didn't always seem angry, and he had a lot less blow ups.

People still stayed their distance from him, but Streamed seemed happier than ever before.

That is, until the peacekeepers took away the meds. And the cycle went back to the way it was before.

Stitch, sitting on a chair that had been fixed and destroyed many times, looked at the TV in front of him, thinking about how his brother was portrayed, and what he was really like behind closed doors when he thought nobody was looking.

Stream had been alienated and labeled through the district because of his problems. Stream didn't make friends, nor did he really want to get close to people. Yet, he longed for friendship outside of the family. Stream hated himself and his disorders.

Life wasn't easy for the family. Especially for Stream.

* * *

 _"What in the..." Thread started, but stopped as he looked at the collection of things that stood in front of him. "Paige!" He shouted._

 _"What?" His daughter yelled back from downstairs._

 _"What is all this?"_

 _"What is all what?" Paige replied like nothing was wrong. But Thread knew that she knew. She had to know. After all, it was all in her room. All he had wanted to do was ask her a question that he hoped would just be a simple misunderstanding, but he could now see that it was going to be anything but that._

 _"You know very damn well what!" He shouted. "What's all this in your room!"_

 _"What are you doing in my room!" Paige suddenly screamed as he heard the thumping of her feet travel towards him. He let her get to her door before he answered. Turning towards her, he showed her a doll that had been reported missing by her friend._

 _With red buttons for eyes and unevenly stitched, it was, without a doubt, her friend's._

 _"Oh, that." Paige said, relief flooding her features. "Yeah. I borrowed that and just forgot to return it to her. Heh."_

 _"It's not just that," Thread told her before he lifted the bed sheet and revealed the clutter that was under the bed. In that location were many more items. All of which he knew weren't Paige's. That was when Paige's face turned to shock. "What is all THIS?" He said with a dramatic wave of his hand._

 _"I... Ugh... Well..." Paige said, struggling to get words from her mouth. Thread just sighed and shook her head, disappointed to find everything that was in this room. Finding all the things that were hidden under the bed._

 _"Your friends and their parents told me that they were missing things, and they suspected you of them. Not only that, but so were your teachers. I just hoped that it was a couple of things that you had taken from them and forgotten to give back. If it was just this doll and a couple of pencils, sure, I could live with that. But all this? Christ Paige, it looks like you meant to take all these."_

 _"I'm sorry dad," ten year old Paige Ingram said, seemingly on the verge of tears. "I really am. I meant to return them, but..." She then looked away from him. "But I was scared. I didn't want them to know that I took them."_

 _"But why take all these in the first place?" Thread asked, wondering why in the world she'd take a mountain of things when he could just simply buy them for her._

 _"I..." Paige said as her hands curled into fists. Her body started to tremble as the first wave of tears broke through. "I couldn't help it. I wanted them, I wanted them so bad for some reason, so I took them. I'm sorry dad, I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad. Please."_

 _Thread sighed as he thought of how it was just a kid being a kid. After all, kids did stupid things that weren't always logical._

 _"I'm not mad, Paige." He told her. "But I am very disappointed in you. We've got to give all of these back to their respectful owners with an apology." Paige then looked at her father with welled up eyes._

 _"Do I... Do I have to go with you?" She asked. "Because I don't. Can't you just... You know... Give them back yourself?"_

 _"No, Paige," Thread explained. "You've got to come with me and learn from this. You've got to know what it's like to face your actions. Hopefully they won't make the peacekeepers whip you."_

 _"I don't want to get whipped!" Paige cried out in fear._

 _"I know you don't," Thread gently told her. "But you know the rules better than anyone else."_

 _Paige then sniffed and wiped her nose over her shirt sleeve._

 _"I know."_

 _"Don't worry sweets, I'll be there with you. If it can be avoided, I'll make sure that you don't feel the crack of the whip."_

 _Paige sniffed again and wiped her nose again before wiping her eyes with the same sleeve._

 _"Thanks, dad."_

She didn't get whipped that day.

Thread had gone with her and told everyone that it was just an honest mistake and that she was scared of the reactions that everyone would give her. They accepted it that time, but warned her not to do it again. Paige said that she wouldn't, but it was an empty promise.

Paige had done it again, but it had been from the bakery, and they weren't as forgiving. Because she had dared try to steal a plate, the baker had slugged her across the face. Twice. Then dragged her over to the nearest peacekeeper and explained to her what had happened. That peacekeeper then dragged Paige to the nearest whipping post before giving her a lashing.

Thread found everything out when he went to pick his daughter up from the medics that patched her up.

Paige knew what she had done was wrong, and Thread thought that she'd learn her lesson after that. But he was wrong, because Paige kept on stealing things, but she was more or less more careful about it. She tried to not get caught, but she did. Not all the time, but enough that it caused problems for the family, and Paige herself. No matter how much she tried to cloth it over, she did get caught and punished.

Thread had to watch as Paige isolated herself from her peers and the outside world. He had to witness her struggling with school and how much she pushed herself to try and be a better person. He had heard her swear to herself and mentally beat herself up. He had heard her cry, hide in shame, at watch as she pushed her friends away, leaving her alone in the world.

Thread and his wife tried to teach Paige to try and not steal things, but they couldn't stop her from doing it. Thread felt like a failure as both a father and the mayor, because for all the power he held he couldn't help the person that meant the most to him, and she was suffering because of it.

He might be suffering from it because people were questioning his family and thinking badly of him, but from the actions his daughter was taking, she was suffering a lot more than he was.

Diagnosed at age twelve with her first disorder, followed by a second one at fifteen, Thread had watched her improve somewhat. The treatment wasn't perfect, but it was manageable. And things seemed more right in the world.

That is, until six months ago, when the peacekeepers stormed their house in full force and took away Paige's meds. Direct orders from the president. Thread was unable to stop it.

Thread, sitting on the plush couch with his wife, watching the TV that showed the tributes, Thread just had one thought on his mind.

 _I am powerfully... Powerless, to help the one person that means everything to me._

 **A/N: Sorry for such the long delay and hope that this chapter is at least semi-decent. Things haven't been going well for me and I really hope that it'll change soon.**

 **Anyway, bear with me as I try to get back into the minds of broken teenagers and move this story forward, as after two more of these chapters, I'll be trying to focus more on the human side of them rather than just mainly their disorders, which I've been wanting to do for quite a while now.**

 **Anyway, something funny (at least in my opinion) for you guys for the holidays.**

 **I went to the psych ward to visit a friend, and this is the first thing I heard when I enter:**

 **Patient one: "Aw eat me you jerk!"**

 **Patient two: "Man, you bite someone once and suddenly you're a cannibal!"**

 **Someone from the other side of the room: "Oh God, it's on fire!"**

 **Happy Holidays everyone!**


	25. Family Struggles Part 5

**District Nine**

 _"I can't get to sleep."_

 _That was what Harvey was telling him, but he didn't believe him. Of all the lies that he could possibly say, he had to choose something as vague as that? Something as stupid as that? Couldn't he have came up with a better excuse than that? Of course, it was possible that his brain was getting tired and it needed to work twice as hard for half the normal results._

 _"What do you mean, you can't go to sleep?" Caine Salvador asked in irritation, wondering how it was so hard for his son to find a solution to a simple problem. "All you have to do is go to bed, close your eyes, and wait."_

 _"No." His son told him firmly. "I, literally, can't go to sleep."_

 _Caine gave a dramatic sigh of annoyance. It had been happening for nearly a year now. His eldest son had somehow went back in time to a place where he was afraid to have a nightmare. He was like a little kid, being afraid of something that wasn't real. Something so childish that it was almost pathetic. After all, what kind of thirteen year old is afraid of having a nightmare? Sure it's scary at the time, but it's only a nightmare, and the memory of it will disappear after a short time._

 _But despite everything that he told Harvey, Harvey still refused to face his fears and go to sleep, and it was pissing him off. Harvey wasn't the same when he stayed awake, and Harvey wanted to stay awake for as long as possible, much to his confusion._

 _The evidence was right in front of him as he looked at Harvey in the afternoon light. Eyes were bloodshot with dark bags under his eyes. He was wide awake, but at the same time, he looked like he could fall asleep at any moment._

 _The telltale signs were the looks of confusion, the slow responses, and the light swaying of his body. But other than that, there was also something that bothered Caine. He wondered if he was seeing it right, but were Harvey's pupils enlarged?_

 _"And what the hell's that supposed to mean?" He asked, thinking that it was just another bullshit excuse his son was offering him. He did that a lot to try and justify why he was awake and not trying to get some rest._

 _"I can close my eyes for however long I want and nothing will happen. I've been up for three days and my body refuses to rest. I didn't think sugar cubes could last that long."_

 _"You can't sleep because of sugar?" Caine laughed, but then went back to being serious. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." There wasn't even that much sugar in the house, and despite what people said, he didn't think even a huge amount of sugar could make someone stay awake for hours or days._

 _"It's not actually sugar," Harvey deadpanned. "It's crack." To which Caine reacted like any sane parent would. He was hit with shock, confusion, and anger. Plus, he didn't really even know how to react other than saying the first thing that came to his mind._

 _"What the fuck!" He yelled. "You're smoking crack!"_

 _"Of course," Harvey casually said, like it wasn't even a big deal. "It's not like I wanted sleep anyway. It's perfect."_

 _"What?" The father roared before he grabbed his son by the hair and slammed his face into the kitchen counter and kept it there. "You stupid retard! You have a couple of nightmares and suddenly you're afraid of going to sleep? It's pathetic!"_

 _"Fuck you old man!" Harvey screamed as he struggled to escape his father's grasp, feebly tying to escape. "You have idea what it's like for me!"_

 _"I know that you're being an immature baby about it!" Caine shouted as he continued to hold his son's face down. "Man the fuck up!"_

 _"Go fuck yourself!" Harvey yelled back._

If there was one thing that Caine knew about his son, it was that drugs weren't going to help him with his problem.

If anything, those things were just going to make things worse. And they had. Because of those damn nightmares that Harvey was so afraid of, he had refused to go to sleep whenever possible. That lead to complications that ranged from irritation to concentration problems. Problems that weren't big on their own, but directly affected the way that Harvey would think.

Caine often wondered why he couldn't just face his nightmares and be done with it. Everyone gets nightmares once in a while, but Harvey claimed that he was having nightmares every night, which to him was a load of bullshit, because you can't even dream every night. How was it possible to have a nightmare every night? And even if he did somehow have a nightmare every night, it wasn't like it was that bad. All they were were nightmares. And if he had the will to stay up all night, then he had the will to face the nightmares and not be such a bitch about them.

His mother had tried to help as well, but everything she tried to do turned out to be for nothing. She tried to comfort him, tell him that nightmares couldn't affect his life, but that didn't do anything for Harvey. She took him to the medics, they tried to help him, they failed. They gave him a diagnosis, but all it did was tell them what they already knew.

The medics gave him some drugs to try and help him, but they didn't seem to do a damn thing for Harvey. Probably because a thirteen year old wasn't supposed to be scared of nightmares in the first place.

But then the illegal drugs came into play, and that's when things took a turn for the worse. Harvey got his wish of being able to stay up at nights so that he wouldn't have to face his nightmares. But his anger and irrationality soared, and soon Harvey became razor grained and dependent on those drugs, becoming deranged.

If Harvey couldn't find drugs, he'd do other things to keep himself awake. Mainly self harm, and he wasn't always subtle about it either.

Harvey's focus was scattered, quitting school in the pursuit of drugs and using what little money he earned to get them. Harvey didn't have a legal job, and Caine often asked himself how Harvey even got the money to buy the damn things. Harvey of course, wouldn't answer him, leaving the mystery hang in the air.

His mother worried about him, because Harvey would disappear for days at a time, only to come back here when he needed something, such as a place to stay and to take what little food he could mooch off.

Caine wanted his son off the drugs and to come back into society, but Harvey didn't seem to care about anything. Not his parents, not his siblings, not his health, nothing. Nothing but those damn drugs. They were destroying him inside and out. Starting with his thoughts, than the separation of his friends, to family conflict, to his appearance deteriorating.

When he wasn't home his mother worried for him, and when he was home his siblings were scared of him. Life with Harvey was unpredictable, and it certainly wasn't pleasant.

At fifteen years old, Caine knew that Harvey was already dead because of those drugs.

* * *

 _Rowan Bitseed, was crying._

 _She wondered how the situation had ended up like it had. It was just supposed to be a simple birthday party, that's all. Friends of her friends were invited, everything was normal, aside from the fact that her friend's parents weren't home and they were allowed to consume as much alcohol as they pleased without interruption. Not that she wanted to get completely drunk, but enjoying a single beer or two wouldn't hurt her._

 _And then he came onto her, and he didn't accept anything she said to him. He just continued his pursuit onto her, ignoring her wishes._

 _She had just managed to escape from the older boy that had been at her friend's house and make it home safely, slamming the door shut, but from the smell that wafted in the air inside her own house, she wasn't sure if she was safer there or not. A smell not unlike burning chemicals stung her nostrils as she looked towards the source of the smell, and saw a light bulb that had specks of black on it._

 _That instrument was sitting on the table, along with a display of crushed up pills, a flick blade with powder residue on it's side, and rows of malt liquor bottles. Some of them had already been consumed. Her fear only increased as she looked at the person sitting on the couch with one foot on the table._

 _"You're home early." Her fifteen year old twin sister, Zora Bitseed, said to her before she inhaled cigarette smoke. Rowan didn't respond right away, as thoughts raced through her mind, wondering if she wanted to take a chance with her sister, or go back to her friend's house and take a chance with that crazy guy._

 _On one hand, her sister was high on something as her pupils were enlarged and she seemed more energetic than usual. Not only that, but she had been drinking as well. From the looks of it, she had drank eight strong beers and was going for more. And she was planning on doing more drugs as well. Either that, or she was waiting for her own friends to show up._

 _On the other hand, the crazy boy at the other house was sixteen, drunk, and strong. Her friends had also been drinking heavily, and they probably had no idea what was going on between the two of them. Sure they were still functioning, but they had drank enough that even if they knew what was going on, they wouldn't have been much help._

 _Either way, she felt defenseless._

 _Rowan, honestly had no idea which one was worse, and there were no adults in either house. She was trapped either way. The only difference was which person was she going to be trapped with. "What happened?" Zora asked, blowing acrid smoke from her mouth. God how she hated that smell. Even worse, it was mixed in with other nauseating, narcotic smells as well._

 _"I almost to raped." Rowan blurted out, not able to contain it anymore. She cried some more as she told her sister what had happened. "He tried to have his way with me, so I shoved him and ran."_

 _He may have been older and stronger than her, but he was drunk, so it wasn't too hard for Rowan to take him by surprise. But in a straight up fight, Rowan knew that she'd lose. Which is why she choose to run rather than fight._

 _"So let me get this straight," Zora said as she snuffed out her cigarette on the table and grabbed a half full beer bottle. "You went to this little get together with your friends and some of their friends, this one guy comes over to you and tries to rape you, followed by your escaping here."_

 _"Yes." Rowan answered as her sister leaped over the couch and landed with unsteady feet, but quickly recovered._

 _"Drugs and alcohol?"_

 _"Just drinks." Rowan answered as her sister approached. She didn't like where this was going._

 _"And that's it?" Zora asked. Rowan got a very bad feeling about the situation, but she answered anyway._

 _"Yes?" She said, only for a glass bottle to shatter close to her face. Splashes of liquor and pieces of glass hit her face. The sudden explosion and the shrapnel caused her to scream and move clumsily away before she felt hands grip her neck and slam her against the door. A wave of pain radiated from the back of her head._

 _"And you didn't fight back!" Zora raged at her before she pulled her back and slammed her against the door again. Rowan was too afraid to do anything as her sister continued to yell. "He was drunk and you're sure as hell at lot more sober than him!" Rowan then felt her face being slapped, hard, twice. One for each side of her face. "You should have seen this coming!" Rowan then felt a hit to the stomach, causing her to cough and her vision to blur for a second. "You're riced by boys, don't tell me you were stupid enough to not see it!"_

 _"Zora," Rowan begged through the hand clamped around her throat, but all Zora did was squeeze harder. It made it harder for Rowan to draw air, but she was still able to breathe. Even though her breaths were ragged and course._

 _"Shut it bitch!" Zora yelled before Rowan felt, before she saw, lips connect with her own. Rowan was too shocked to even move, before her sister stopped roughly kissing her. Even so, the taste of malt liquor and cigarettes remained in her mouth. "I'm a rapist. Fight back!" All Rowan could do was stare in shock and confusion. "I said fight back, cunt!" Zora shouted before Rowan felt her mouth being smashed with Zora's forehead. Rowan yelled in agony as she thought her teeth were going to fall out and she felt her lips being split open. The taste of blood invaded her mouth, mixing in with the other foul tastes within._

 _"Please stop." Rowan pleaded as she cried even harder than she had before. Her arms pushed against her slightly shorter sister, trying to make her back off._

 _"Please stop." Zora mocked before Rowan felt a hand shove itself down her pants and start massaging her sensitive area. "Make me!"_

 _Crying even more, Rowan started to try and push her sister away, but the more she fought, the more Zora did as well. Rowan knew that it was a losing battle to begin with, as even though she was the slightly taller and slightly older twin, Zora could easily beat her in a fight. After all, she was more experienced in the art of combat, and was stronger than her as well_

 _Her sister wasn't just winning the fight, she was taunting her as well. She only overpowered her as much as she needed to._

 _Rowan continued to feel her sister's fingers sliding in and out of her, making herself feel a rush of pleasure with each stroke. It was sick, disgusting, and made her hate herself. She wanted her sister to get away, but she couldn't make her get away, couldn't get her to stop as her body begged for more. That is, until she climaxed and a wave of dirty pleasure hit her body._

 _Her body had felt pleasure, but her mind made her feel all kinds of fucked up. She knew that she shouldn't feel the way she was feeling, but she was. And she hated it._

 _Rowan felt a hand leave her pants before said hand started to violently slap her across the face numerous times. Each slap hurting more than the last as it spread her own body fluids onto her face. "If I were a guy, you'd have hand a dick inside of you rather than some fingers." Rowan then felt herself thrown away before she crashed to the floor and wailed._

 _She felt weak, pathetic, and dirty. Worse than she had before, all because of her sister. "When my friends come here, tell them I'll be a little late. And don't let them rape you, unless that's what you want you weak, defenseless, little slut."_

Never before had Rowan felt that way.

She couldn't describe the way she felt at that moment, but the best she could describe it was the feeling was being violated and broken. She had felt sick, and no matter how long, or how hard, she had scrubbed herself in the bath, she still felt dirty. Not just on the outside, but on the inside as well.

She had hated the way she had had contradicting feelings about the brutal experience her sister had given her. Not only that, but she knew that she couldn't tell anyone, what proof was there? And the marks that Zora had left on her? Zora could easily deny that she had done it and say that the drunk guy had done it and no one would be none the wiser.

And if there was one thing that Rowan knew would happen if she told someone, it was that Zora would be dishing out some pay back, whether they had believed her or not.

Rowan had cried until there were no more tears flowing out. She had vomited a couple of times as well. And even then she still wanted to cry and felt physically sick more than physically hurt. But in addition to everything, she felt betrayed. Betrayed by her sister, betrayed by herself.

True to her word, Zora's friends had shown up to drink and do drugs with her. They hadn't done anything to her, didn't even try, but she didn't feel safe with them. She didn't think Zora would have protected her. After all, Zora did what she wanted, not caring about the rights and wrongs and morals, none of those trivial things mattered to her.

Not only that, but she was a very razor grained person that always looked out for number one. And to Zora, number one was always herself. Fighting and anger were no strangers to her, so much so that nobody in the district could control her. Rowan had seen her parents try, only to regret it later.

Not even the peacekeepers could stop Zora, as she continued to break laws and get whipped. It still didn't stop her. She only became more cautious, more careful onto not getting caught. And even then, Zora threw caution to the wind.

Even when she was younger, Zora had a tendency to pick fights with people, sometimes over the smallest issues, and she'd say they annoyed her. She'd steal if she wanted something and she'd break the rules on a daily basis. Whether she got caught was a whole other thing all together. And even if she did get caught she'd lie and she'd sometimes get away with it. Or at least, she'd try to get away with it.

Zora eventually got kicked out of school at age twelve because of all the fights and rule breaking she had done. And even at work people weren't safe. Zora was easy to frustrate and didn't think her actions through.

Thinking of her sister out in the fields wielding a sickle... It sent shivers of terror down her spine.

Many people blamed her parents, because somehow they managed to raise Rowan right and Zora wrong. Then drugs were blamed. And while Zora did drink, smoke, and do drugs, Zora was still a razor grained person before she had tried any of those substances.

As Zora aged, she got better at hiding her true self. The one that cast fear through the family and the district. She got in trouble less often, but that was only because she didn't get caught by the peacekeepers and she put up an act around people.

The Zora on the outside had changed significantly, but the Zora on the inside was no different.

Rowan knew that she shouldn't care about her sister as much as she did, but she was more than just a sister, she was a twin. A twin that didn't look like her but a twin neither the less. And sure, Zora did many things to her, but at the same time, she wondered if Zora actually did care about her. In a strange, twisted way.

Because she remembered the boy that had tried to rape her when she was fifteen. The next time she saw him at school, he had been beaten so severely that the medics had been surprised that he could even walk and use his hands. And not only that, but every time he saw her, he'd scamper away like a startled crow.

 **District Ten**

 _"I don't like him."_

 _Startled, Hilly Naylar looked towards her little brother, and saw that his facial features had changed from what they had been only a few seconds ago. Instead of the normally happy person that he had been when she and her boyfriend had been talking about what they were going to be doing during the dog days. Acting all cheerful and the lot. But now, Falco was saying that he didn't like him? Where the hell did that come from?_

 _"So everything you said to him was a load of horse shit?" Hilly asked, wondering if anything Falco had said was actually true._

 _"Not everything," Falco answered, his facial features in a neutral expression. "I do plan on seeing if my friends and I can sell some cottage cheese and try to catch some rattlers, but yeah, some of what I said was a load." Hilly shivered at the thought of Falco and his friends trying to catch rattle snakes out in the fields. It wasn't that she feared snakes themselves, but it was the fact that there were snakes out there that were venomous and were aggressive towards humans._

 _But there was also another thought on her mind._

 _"So I'm guessing when you said you couldn't wait to meet him again, that was an ass pull as well?"_

 _"Oh I look forward to meeting him again all right." Falco told her, his facial expressions just a slight more aggressive than before. "I look forward to what he's got planned for you."_

 _"He's got a plan?" Hilly asked, curious about what Falco had heard._

 _"Course." Falco answered, like it was obvious. "He's a foxy bastard that one. He knows your work schedule, he knows when mom and dad aren't home, and our younger brothers trust him as well. He's got them on his side. Foxy that guy is. He's got everything planned out for when it's time to strike," Falco then slammed a fist into his palm. "Bam! Hilly's the pony. He'll ride you sis, he'll ride you hard." Hilly could start to feel her ears start burn, hearing what her brother was saying._

 _"I sure hope your not using the slang terms," she said, thinking of how both of them were all kinds of bad. Especially since it was her little brother she was talking to. Sure Falco was eleven years old, but she still didn't want to discuss her sex life around him. "Because you're perverted if you are."_

 _"I'm not perverted." Falco quickly assured._

 _"And if you are using slang, you're crazy."_

 _"I'm not crazy." Falco insisted just as swiftly. "Think about it, why else would he try so hard to do everything that I just said. Befriending me my ass, he just wants to get closer to you."_

 _"Isn't that the point of being in a relationship?" Hilly asked, clearly not amused with her brother._

 _"Fine, let me put it this way; He's fifteen, you're fourteen. Guys like younger girls. Especially girls that haven't had sex yet." Hilly could feel herself getting more and more embarrassed as more words flowed out of her brother's mouth. "And you're both at the age where the average kid wants to lose their virginity, so what's to not think that-"_

 _"I think that you've been putting too much thought into this," she told her brother, wondering how he even came to the conclusion that her boyfriend wanted to do something like that. She didn't even think that he was trying to get her to have sex with him. Falco was reading the signs all the wrong way. "And why are you starting to think this now of all times?"_

 _After all, it was the first time that Falco had even mentioned this. Nothing that Hilly had seen had made it seem that Falco had any negative thought about her boyfriend. They had gotten along together nicely and everything. Falco had even giving the cliche 'if you ever hurt her' speech as a joke and both boys had laughed at it. Hell, they had talked and played together. And now, all of a sudden, he was suspecting him of foul play? It had came out of no where._

 _"I've had my suspicions for a while now," Falco answered. "I didn't want to arise suspicion, so I kept it a secret." Hilly let out an irritated sigh before she faced her brother again._

 _"He's fine. Trust me."_

 _"Yeah, well, Let's hope so." Falco sighed, his expressions relaxing. "Maybe the signs are wrong and he just wants to be friendly to all of us and there's nothing about rape going on."_

 _"Glad to hear that." Hilly said, relived that Falco wasn't being completely irrational. "Anything else I should know?" She joked._

 _"Well now that you mention it," Falco said with a serious look. "You remember that old guy that likes to sell us goat's milk?"_

 _"The one with the stupid looking leather rancher hat?" Hilly asked._

 _"The very one." Falco answered. "Now, don't look behind you, but I think he's stalking you."_

 _"What?" She exclaimed before she looked behind her, not believing her brother. She didn't see anyone except her boyfriend, who was now a far distance away. She continued to look around, not seeing anyone else around._

 _"I said don't look behind you!" Falco yelled._

She never wanted to believe her brother.

Sure the things that he thought were happening were possible, but the people that he accused didn't seem interesting in doing any of the ridiculous schemes that he had been thinking of. It drove her crazy, and truth be told, it had driven her parents crazy as well.

She knew that there was a such thing called an over-protective brother, and she didn't mind Falco trying to protect her, even though she didn't need to be protected. But the things that he thought of, the things that he thought that he was protecting her from? That was where the line was drawn.

Stalking? Physical assault? Rape? She didn't even know how he connected the dots on those accusations. And when she told her parents about what her brother was thinking, they wondered as well. Sure there was some evidence that he presented, and even Falco himself at times doubted himself, but it always seemed to remain in his mind.

As a result, Hilly never liked to introduce people to Falco, because guys weren't the only victims of his paranoia. Some of her female friends were also accused of things.

The confusing thing to Hilly was that Falco was never outright hostile to the people of his accusations, only when Falco thought that desperate measures were needed. Other than that, he seemed completely normal, and was perfectly capable of having a normal, calm, civilized conversation with people. Perfectly capable of being civilized around them.

If she hadn't found out what Falco thought of some people, she'd have never have known what his true thoughts and feelings towards them would have been.

In addition to that, Falco just seemed like a totally normal person. He wasn't outright mean, he wasn't stupid, he didn't act like a wild child, nothing. There was nothing to make people think that he was someone that was mentally ill. Even quitting school at the age of twelve was quite common. Kids quit school to work full time either in town, at home, or at someone else's farm. Everything about their family was just that, normal.

Except for Falco, who seemed to be a little too protective of her. Subtle, but still there, all she needed to do was look for the signs. And they were there. Small as they may be, they were there.

It made her worry about the people that Falco meet. Would he automatically accuse them? Would he play the normal brother type until something made him snap? Would Falco ever fully trust one of her friends? It made it hard for her to trust Falco around her friends and co-workers, or other acquaintances. Because Falco wasn't afraid to fight. And that's what worried her. For both parties.

After his second fight, in which he had accused someone of trying to do something towards her, Falco had been taken to the medics where he had received a mental health label. It also caused people around the district to call him a variety of names. The two most common were; paranoid, and sister fucker. She really hated that last one.

Falco refused to believe that someone was wrong with him, and that made things difficult.

In the end, he took the pills, and things seemed better, but Hilly was never fully sure. Not with the way she knew her brother.

But things had been fine, for a time. She had been happy, thinking that nothing could go wrong. But Falco reverted back to his old ways, and Hilly hated that.

Looking at the TV screen, Hilly wondered if the aviators wondered if Falco should even be in this year's game. Because compared to the others, he looked and acted the least crazy, at least in her opinion. Or at least, one of the least crazy.

But that didn't change the fact that he was crazy.

Her crazy eldest brother. And despite all the trouble he had caused her, she missed him. She missed him a lot.

* * *

 _"Are you feeling all right?"_

 _That was the question on his mind as his daughter looked at the sheets of paper in front of her in a daze. Her eyes were unfocused, like she was looking at something that wasn't there. Not only that, but she hadn't moved in the last few minutes._

 _Mink didn't answer, didn't even react to her father's question. She just continued to stare at the papers, immobilized, only occasionally blinking. "Mink?" The father asked before he gave her a light tap on the arm._

 _And as if it were magic, his daughter came back to life with a gasp. Her eyes blinked rapidly before she looked around, followed by sighing._

 _"Sorry," Mink told him as she rubbed her head with one hand. "Got lost in thought."_

 _"Yeah..." Zander Prather trailed with a sigh, thinking of how it was becoming a problem for Mink. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that."_

 _"Oh yeah?" Mink said as she looked at the homework in front of her. The pencil in her hand tapping the table as she tried to figure out a question on the sheet._

 _"Yeah," Zander told her. "It's been happening quite often as of late, as your teacher as been telling me. Is there something that we should know about?" If something was wrong, he wanted to know. After all, he didn't want anything bad to happen to his daughter. And if something was bothering her, maybe he could offer up a solution to help her. If not, than maybe his wife could help her if it was a girl problem. Or maybe things were all right and it was just a part of Mink being fourteen. He hoped it was that last one._

 _"Nothing's wrong dad." Mink sighed as she struggled to solve the school's question. "Or really, nothing major."_

 _"Nothing major?" Zander asked, curious to what it was._

 _"Yeah," Mink answered. "And it's not like I'm it's pony or anything. It's just that... I've had this feeling for quite a while now. Something that I can't explain."_

 _"If you want to talk about it, then I'm here to listen to you." Zander told his daughter. "Or if you feel as if it's more of a question that your mother could answer, then you can ask her instead. But you're growing up, and you're going to feel things that are strange, so it could be completely normal."_

 _"Yeah, well, if I tell you, will you promise not to laugh or look at me I'm crazy or something?"_

 _"Can't promise anything baby girl, it really depends on what it is." Zander answered honestly, because he was thinking of all kinds of things that Mink could tell him. Some funny, some not, but he hoped that it was something that he could answer._

 _"Doesn't fill me with confidence." Mink groaned before she set down her pencil. "But I'll tell you anyway." She then took a couple of breaths before she continued. "I've had this feeling where I feel... Detached."_

 _"Detached?" Zander asked, wondering what she could have meant by that._

 _"Yeah," Mink confirmed. "Detached from this world. Like this reality isn't really reality. Things don't seem real, and, like, I'm just an observer in someone else's life. Like, I'm doing the actions that I want to do, but I'm not the rider nor the pony."_

 _"That is rather bizarre." Zander confirmed. "And how long has this been happening for?"_

 _"Quite a while dad," Mink answered. "And it's not just a buck event, because sometimes, I feel as if it has gone away, only for it to return back in full force. Maybe that's just because it wasn't as intense and I was used to the intensity, but..." She sighed. "I don't know."_

 _"Yeah. I don't know either." Zander told her, as he didn't understand a thing about what she was feeling. He understood the words, but he couldn't get a picture on what she was feeling. "Hopefully it's just a phase."_

 _"Yeah," Mink sighed. "Just a phase." She then picked up her pencil and started to work on her school work again. "I just hope it goes away soon."_

It didn't go away.

It carried on and only made Mink more confused than she had been before. And with those feelings of confusion, it made Mink question her existence. And then there were the times where she just wasn't herself.

It was subtle, but the signs were still there, all he needed to do was look. He hadn't known it before, but if he had, he would have gotten Mink help earlier than he had before. Mink was a teenage girl, and teenagers often had emotions that didn't make complete sense, and that's what he thought they were at first, just a teenager reacting to something stressful or some kind of unknown emotion for some unknown reason. And just like how everyone had off days, he thought that it was the same thing with Mink.

Not only that, but teenagers changed through the use of growth and hormones, so it wasn't uncommon to hear about how personalities changed in the teenage years. The years where kids got angry and choose to rebel against their parents. It all seemed normal to Zander, even though he didn't like Mink's smart ass attitude at times.

Still, he, his wife, and the other adults said that it was a normal part of growing up. But there were still limits that Zander liked to impose on Mink, such as the banning of consuming alcohol while under age and acting snarky around the house.

And the rebellious attitude, he didn't like that either, but there was little that he could do to stop her. But the thing was, she seemed to bounce back and forth between being a cranky teenager, and being the Mink he knew. The Mink that didn't talk back to her parents nearly as often and didn't seem to be in a foul mood as much.

Still, they said that it was normal for a teenage girl to go through mood swings because of their menstrual cycle, if he was remembering the name correctly.

Irritability. Feeling down. Trying to gain independence from parents. Changes in personality. All of them were normal.

But there were some things that Zander found unusual about Mink. For example, the cranky Mink would remember some things, but the calmer Mink wouldn't. Persistent sleep problems and bizarre dreams were common, as were concentration issues. And if there was one thing that haunted him, it was what Mink had told him that one day. The day that she thought that reality wasn't really reality. Mink always felt that way. Detached.

Zander wondered if Mink had something other than hormones racing through her, and took her to the medics when she was in one of her calmer moods. From there, Zander learned that she had a form of mental illness, and the medics diagnosed her and gave her some medication to try and help her.

They didn't work. Not completely. As Mink would refuse to take them at times, claiming that nothing was wrong with her. She denied that there was something wrong with her. Well, half the time anyway.

And for the most part, everyone thought the same thing as well. That there was nothing wrong with Mink.

But it seemed that just before this year's reaping, Mink fully challenged the thoughts that she always had, and started to question herself even more.

Zander couldn't help but wonder what was going through his daughter's mind.

 **A/N: This chapter was one of the easier ones to write, hope it's decent. Last chapter until sometime in 2017.**

 **I was thinking of changing this fic to an M rating when it reached the arena, but do you think it needs to be changed now?**

 **Happy Holidays everyone.**


	26. Family Struggles Part 6

**District Eleven**

 _Harvesting._

 _If there was one thing that Bean Calloway knew how to do it was harvesting a variety of plants and vegetables around the district. He knew that he wasn't the best picker around, but he relished in the fact that he knew basically what to do with many plants, rather than have a plethora of knowledge on a few._

 _He wanted to pass some this knowledge onto his son, so he was currently teaching him about picking good coffee beans. And if Bean was perfectly honest, he was also going to teach his son how to sneak some of the beans into his pockets or boots or anywhere else they could be hidden. Coffee was a sort of luxury item that was limited in the district thanks to the Capitol wanting as much of it as possible._

 _And Bean could see why, not only did it act as a mild stimulant, it also tasted good with some kind of sweetener. And if you were really lucky, you could add some kind of cream to it as well. And if worst came to worst, they could always sell the beans at a discount price._

 _There were other things that you could do with coffee beans as well, but Bean personally wanted to sell them so that his family could afford something good for themselves._

 _He didn't let those thoughts flood his mind as he went through the steps of harvesting the beans with his son, Trail Calloway, explaining the instructions from choosing which of the cherries to pick to how to rotate the drying beans. He was just finishing up on how to hopefully smuggle some of the dried beans for themselves when he concluded._

 _"And that's how you harvest coffee beans with a twist. Any questions?"_

 _Bean then looked at his son, who had a look of utter confusion on his face._

 _"Could you repeat that?" Trail asked. "I kind of got lost there."_

 _"Sure," the father told him. "What part did you get lost at? Rotation? How to effectively dry them? How to separate the meat from the bean?"_

 _"All of it." Trail answered with a deadpan look. All Bean could do was sigh, as he had expected this to happen. Many people would have maybe laughed a little while others would give Trail a look of something that spelt: Are you fucking serious? They would have then discovered that Trail was not fooling around, and that he genuinely meant it. From there, reactions would vary. Bean knew which reaction he was going to take with his son._

 _"All right," he lightly groaned, thinking of the journey back to the harvesting fields. "Let's go back after a quick break. Hand me my canteen please."_

 _"Why would I have your canteen?" Trail asked with confusion._

 _"Because I told you to-" Bean paused with realization. "You forgot it didn't you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. One that Trail didn't deny._

 _"I knew I forgot something." He said as he lightly kicked the dirt._

 _"Well at least tell me you remembered your own, it's the middle of the afternoon and my throat feels like it could spit out cotton."_

 _"First off," Trail said as he groped around his body. "If you could do that, that would be so freaking cool. Second of all..." Trail then stopped searching himself. "I don't have it."_

 _The two males looked at each other in silence. One of them had mild anger on his facial features while another had mild anxiety on his. However, Bean knew that his son was also feeling a second feeling that he had within himself. Disappointment. "Should I say it or do you want to say it?"_

 _"You can say it." Bean replied with a lazy wave of his hand as the two of them moved towards the unharvested coffee bean fields again._

 _"Okay." Trail half way moaned as he followed behind. "Fuck." He spat out with bitterness and displeasure._

Bean knew that Trail had attention problems. It had been present since Trail was young and it wasn't just a one time thing. It was persistent, it hindering, and most of all, it affected more than Trail in school. It affected him at home, work, and friendship as well.

Trail would forget when he needed to meet his friends, he'd forget his obligations at home, and he wasn't good at following instructions at work. He kept on losing things, which was a pain in the ass as it was hard enough to afford sending a kid into school in the first place, but somehow, Bean and his wife managed.

Trail eventually quit school though, and it wasn't just through his teachers that he decided to quit, but Bean and his wife themselves thought that Trail wouldn't be able to advance any further than where he was. At least, not without some significant improvements in his concentration and memory. Trail himself said that he'd be better off doing working the fields with his family. And while the parents wanted him to be something more than a simple farm hand, they respected his choice.

Trail had a hard time working out in the fields, not because he had an annoying habit of forgetting instructions, but because the fields were tracker hives, Trail would easily get distracted by the people talking, the mocking jacks singing, birds flying over head, and anything else you could think of.

He was, at times, more of a hindrance than an assist, and Trail seemed to know that as well. Though Bean had never said it outright, he wondered if Trail had discovered it by his own actions, or from some way he had acted. Either way, there were times where Trail would seem down in the dumps and wouldn't want to do anything and just hole himself up in the house.

Trail told him that he felt, useless. That he felt as if he couldn't do anything right, that he was just a failure because he couldn't concentrate on the right things and that he couldn't remember important things. He thought that those were the reason that people didn't like him.

They were false however, because while they were annoying traits, it wasn't as if everyone hated him. He wasn't hated by his family, and he wasn't hated by his friends either.

Sure he'd stare up into the sky when he should have been paying attention to his lessons, or he forgot that he was supposed to meet up with people, but that didn't mean that people hated him. There was also the fact that Trail could focus on a seemingly unimportant task and not be swayed away from it unless someone intervened.

Bean and his wife eventually got worried for their son as his mood seemed to get lower and lower, until they finally took him to the medics to see what was wrong with him. Trail was given two diagnoses and some medications to help him. And with that, they saw improvements with their son.

Even after Trail received his diagnoses at the age of thirteen and some medication to help combat his illnesses, he still didn't want to go back to school and decided to continue his work in the fields. And though his memory was better, Bean learned how to help in his own way.

He'd speak slower to his son and repeat instructions, show him how to do things and the like. Bean thought of his son as having a different way of learning rather than a disability.

Things weren't perfect, but not many things were.

But when the quarter quell came and announced it's twist, things went full circle and it became a cloudburst for the family.

Bean, looking at the TV, was worried for his son, because he knew that the arena was a dangerous place. One where you couldn't let your guard down. And unfortunately, Trail did that very easily.

* * *

 _"She's missing."_

 _"Again?" Peara Boykin asked as he received news that, yet again, her daughter had mysteriously vanished. It wasn't all that surprising, but at the same time, it was, but most of all, it was irritating. How many times would she and her family have to search for Soya before she learned to not wander off unexpectedly? It not only put her into a cloud burst, but it could potentially put everyone else into a cloud burst as well thanks to the peacekeepers keeping a watchful eye on everyone._

 _If the peacekeepers thought that Soya was trying to escape from work, or just trying to take an unauthorized break, then the consequences could be severe. Though Soya should have known that by now, as she had been punished by them before, and the results weren't pretty._

 _Peara shook her head, knowing that she had to do something before the peacekeepers did one of the things they did best and told her friend to go back to picking the carrots before she carefully looked around for any signs of her eldest daughter._

 _She saw some people standing and walking about, but it was hard to spot her daughter among everyone else. She had brown skin and black hair, like the majority of District Eleven, but her hair was straight, so that was something that she could use to her advantage. Though the only people that stood out in the tracker hive were the cottons. Peara cursed as she pretended to work, all the while, continuing her search._

 _She wondered why Soya would want to do something like that. Why would she wander away from work or whatever she wanted to get away from. Sure the work was hard and you got tired and the such, but that didn't explain why you'd just walk away from your duties and expect to get away with it._

 _After scanning the area, Peara grew increasingly frustrated as she couldn't spot her troublesome daughter. She was worried, and she was angry. So she stood straight up and scanned the fields again. Again, nothing stood out to her besides the cottons and the peacekeepers with their guns and body armor._

 _That was when she heard the screaming. It came from behind her, so she looked behind her, expecting the worst. And what she saw, she expected. In the distance, she saw some peacekeepers struggling with someone before they dragged her towards her location._

 _As the bodies came closer and closer, Peara could see that the peacekeepers were dragging her daughter towards her. Peara cursed again, waiting for the peacekeepers to come and tell her to collect her daughter after they whip her._

 _The group of peacekeepers got close to her before they came to a halt._

 _Soya was being held by two peacekeepers, one on each of her arms, and it looked like they had already hit her across the face a few times. Soya, however continued to struggle, which seemed to only provoke the peacekeepers that were holding her._

 _"This has gone on long enough!" The lead peacekeeper, a man who only appeared to be in his mid twenties, harshly informed her as he uncoiled his whip. "You're going to teach your retarded daughter some fucking discipline!"_

 _"I will." Peara replied, knowing that she'd have to give Soya a real long talk at home followed by a punishment._

 _"Good." The peacekeeper said before she shoved his whip into her hands as the two other peacekeepers dragged Soya to a scarecrow post and tied her onto it. Peara, meanwhile, knew that this was a cloud burst if there ever was one, and she knew exactly what they expected her to do. "Teach her some."_

 _The two peacekeepers who had dragged Soya, kids that looked like they hadn't yet reached twenty, each grabbed the back of her shirt collar and yanked in opposite directions. The sound of fabric being torn filled Peara's ears as she saw her daughter's exposed back. Covered in scars from previous whippings, some of which weren't even healed yet, Peara was expected to add to it._

 _Looking at the unhealed scars, the ones that were crusted with a mixture of coagulated and jellied blood. Her back was discoloured and had long and narrow hills decorating her back. She didn't want to do it. She didn't want to whip her own daughter._

 _She knew that lead peacekeeper of the trio saw her hesitation when he talked again. "Satisfy my whip's blood lust or we'll satisfy the crow's appetite!"_

 _Peara then flung her hand back, and then flung it forward, the whip striked Soya's back and created a new valley among her back. One that was already overflowing with red water._

 _Peara started to cry, feeling guilty that she was doing such a horrible act to her daughter, but knowing that she was saving her from a worse fate wasn't making it any easier. She could also hear Soya cry, but no more than what she previously had been._

 _She wondered how many more times she'd have to strike her daughter with the weapon in her hands, but she knew that it was going to be in the double digits. More than twenty. She felt like vomiting._

She couldn't protect her forever.

Peara knew that sooner or later, she was going to have to let Soya go and she wouldn't be able to help her survive the harsh district that they called home. But as a mother, Peara wanted her daughter to be safe and to not kill herself by doing something stupid. But that was too much to ask for, in a place like District Eleven, anything could get you killed.

Working too hard, not working hard enough, the lack of food, the lack of money, the heat, the peacekeepers, and more. Hell, she had seen someone die by overexertion because the peacekeepers had been verbally abusing them, forcing them to do something that they knew they shouldn't have otherwise done.

People did things that they shouldn't do, but Peara cared more for her family's well being, so she put more effort into making sure that they didn't make mistakes that could end them. Easier said than done when one of your daughter's is Soya Boykin. A girl that seems to lose her sense of identity and wander off to places unknown because she says that she's compulsed to.

Peara could understand why you'd want to leave the fields when something bad is happening, or when you're tired and in pain, but normal people didn't just get up and walk away in District Eleven. No. They do that and they risk getting punished by the peacekeepers.

But it was like a switch went off in Soya's brain and made her not in control of her actions. But what really worried Peara and her husband was that she lost sense of who she was while under the influence of the wandering.

And it just didn't affect her at work either, it affected her in the house and around her friends as well. Nobody was safe Soya's disappearance. Hell, Peara had had her husband make sure that the windows were permanently locked and made sure Soya stayed in her room at night. The rest of the family despised that move since it made the house even more roasting, especially in the summer, but it helped make Soya safe. Most of the time.

Stress and worry were everyday occurrences for her and her husband because of Soya. They could never relax, it made it hard to sleep, it made it hard to work, and most of all, they had wondered what would happen to Soya if she moved out of the home.

For two years they lived in worry before they finally took her to the medics to see what was wrong with her, the medics gave her a diagnoses at age fourteen and told her what might have caused it. She and her husband then did everything they could to reduce the risk, but in District Eleven, it wasn't easy. Especially for them, since they were used to living with it.

Still, they tried to help their daughter. They didn't want her to end up dead on their watch. And even if she wasn't on their watch, they didn't want her to end up dead pre-maturely.

Looking at the screen in front of them, they knew that there was nothing they could do to keep her safe. Peara hated that feeling.

 **District Twelve**

 _Clemency Burnout was scared._

 _It wasn't the first time that she felt that way, and she knew that it wasn't going to be the last time she felt such a sensation, it was only the most recent. And with this encounter, Clemency knew how to kind of keep her composure and hopefully make sure that things didn't escalate too far._

 _Her mind was racing and she felt her breathing and heart rate get quick, but she didn't let it overwhelm her. She wanted to remain as calm as possible and resolve the situation as quickly and calmly as possible without there being any kinds of casualties._

 _The man in the room with her and her son however, was the complete opposite. He was acting frantic and only seemed to be feeding the fire of conflict within the household. But of course, she knew that he probably didn't expect a ten year old to be holding a knife to him and so casually shout and threaten him._

 _"P- Put the knife down, b- Boy." The man muttered with fear dripping out of his mouth. He held his hands up for meager protection, but the only reason Ryan wasn't charging at him was because Clemency was between the two males._

 _"You think you can just waltz into here and take my mom away!" Ryan shouted with unreserved rage as he continued to point the knife towards the man. "You think you can just come into our lives and replace my dad! Fucking asshole! Answer me!"_

 _"Ryan," Clemency said in a coolly manner, making sure that Ryan didn't get any closer to the guest. "No one's going to replace your dad. Nobody can replace Colton."_

 _"Then why the fuck is he here?" Ryan harshly asked, glaring at the man with fire in his eyes as he jabbed the knife in his direction. "He wants to take you away!"_

 _"He's just a friend." Clemency replied evenly._

 _"That's what they all say!" Her son countered._

 _"We just see each other sometimes and-"_

 _"See each other? See each other!"_

 _"Not like that, Ryan."_

 _"So what, you want to replace me with some bastard child and replace dad with this cocksucking piece of shit?"_

 _"No. No of course not." Clemency told her son, wondering what could make him think that she'd want to replace him and Colton with that man. "He doesn't even want that anyway."_

 _"Well..." The man said uneasily, something that Clemency instantly knew was a mistake. It was too late to avoid it, and she wished that he had just kept his thought to himself. Clemency reacted at the same time Ryan did._

 _"What?" Ryan screamed as Clemency held Ryan back as he swung the knife wildly past her. "I knew it! I fucking knew it! You want to take her away!"_

 _"Ryan-" Clemency started, but didn't get to continue as Ryan swiftly backed away from her. Clemency got ready to intercept Ryan, thinking that he was going to try and rush past her, but to her surprise, he didn't. All Ryan did was back up and hold the knife out._

 _"And you!" He shouted at her. "You want to abandon me for this guy! You want another child that's not me! You want to forget about me and dad you bitch!"_

 _"That's not true!" Clemency told Ryan, thinking of how she never wanted a relationship with that guy in the first place._

 _"Well then great! You can be with that guy and get different kid!" Ryan raged before he placed the sharp end of the blade to his throat. "At the cost of my life!"_

 _Clemency was shocked by what Ryan was doing. No. Not shocked, just surprised, and worried. Extremely worried, as Ryan had threatened suicide before. Not only that, but he had a habit of hurting himself as well, so she had no doubt in her mind that Ryan might, just might, actually slit his own throat._

 _"Ryan no!" Clemency shouted, losing all the calmness she had._

 _"If you choose him, I'll kill myself! So choose! It's either him or me! Him! Or me! Choose which one of us matters more to you!"_

She of course, choose Ryan.

It was an easy decision, really. She never wanted to go out with that man in the first place, and there was no way that she was ever going to try and replace Colton Burnout, no matter what her friends said to her.

Her friends said that she deserved to have someone that made her happy in her life. That she needed someone that hadn't been a black out like Colton. People often wondered why out of everyone in the district, she choose him. Why after all the years of being alone with Ryan that she choose to remain with single. They said that with her looks that she could get lots of men at her heels.

They didn't understand. They didn't understand how she felt for her late husband.

And then there was Ryan. If there was anything that made the men retreat from her, it was Ryan, a seemingly out of control and violent child that had intense mood swings that changed at the drop of a hat. Sometimes it was so fluid that he could have three different mood swings in the course of a minute. He was unpredictable.

So only the barvest of men tried to seduce her. She turned them all down anyway. She didn't want them hurt, nor did she want Ryan hurt. But as much as she did to try and prevent Ryan from harm, harm always seemed to find him anyway.

Ryan would hurt himself by many methods. Cutting himself was the most common, but Ryan also liked to burn himself, punch and kick things, headbutt things, stabbing himself with needle like objects, biting himself, and other means. And because of his threats of suicide, she always worried that he'd carry it out. That the one time that she didn't believe him...

And even if he didn't try to kill himself, there were other ways that he could die. Ryan couldn't contain his anger very well, which resulted in many fights through the district. There was also high drug use and recklessness on his part. Which is why every time Ryan ran away from home she'd expect to find him laying out in an alley somewhere, dead because of a fight or drug overdose.

But if there was anything that kept the men away more than just Ryan being an unstable, alcohol consuming, drug using, violent person, and why Clemency couldn't abandon Ryan besides the fact that he needed help and he was her son, it was Ryan's greatest fear. Abandonment. If there was anything that triggered Ryan, it was the mere thought that someone would abandon him. And not just her, but others as well.

What little friends Ryan managed to make, he'd want to make sure that they didn't leave him, and would go to lengths beyond reasonable to try and keep them around. The mere thought of abandonment sent him over the edge.

There was also the fact that one second you could be the greatest thing ever, and the next second, you're the worst thing ever. You'd never know when Ryan's thought of you changed.

When Ryan was ten, she finally decided to take him to the medics. They diagnosed him with two mental health labels and gave him medication to help combat the symptoms.

At age thirteen she took him in again when he started to shout to himself and gained more intense paranoia. He was given another diagnoses and more medication. At age fourteen he was given his final diagnoses.

She often wondered if it was because of Colton's suicide when Ryan was only six.

She also often wondered if there was something more that she could have done. For both Colton and Ryan. There were things wrong with both of them, but she held onto them, because she loved them. It was a harsh life, and not just because it was District Twelve.

She endured their antics, their despair, their thoughts of cave ins. She endured the two men that meant the most to her, even though they were sever black outs. Endured the false words they said to her, the anger they displayed to her and others, the whispers of the district. She endured them all. Because she loved them. Despite their fatal flaws, she loved them.

She rubbed her back as she watched the screen in front of her, not wanting her son to burn out. She knew that there was a high chance he was going to die, and though she didn't want that to happen, she hoped that he wouldn't burnout first.

* * *

 _"Have you tried going to bed earlier?"_

 _"I have, and it hasn't done a thing."_

 _Fay sighed as she had ran out of ideas to keep her friend awake during the middle of the day. Or at least, every idea that her eight year old brain could rack up._

 _"Okay." Fay said as she placed a hand to her head. "There has to be something that can keep you awake. What's a couple of Dime Shines got to do to accomplish something like this?"_

 _"Ask an adult?" Ashton suggested, to which Fay waved her hand about in front of her face._

 _"Adults don't know nothing, they'll just say," she then did a pretty bad imitation of an older woman's voice. "Stay awake Ashton. It can't be that hard to stay awake."_

 _"Well they're bound to know something that we don't." Ashton told her._

 _"They might know things, but that doesn't mean that they'll take us seriously." Fay responded. "If anything, they'll just think that you're staying up too late doing... Something. I don't know."_

 _"Well there has to be something that we can do to make it stop. I hate it. I'm always tired, which isn't normal, and I'm scared that it'll happen again. What if it never ends?" Fay could see that her friend was getting worried, and placed her hands on her shoulder for support in an attempt to calm her down._

 _"It will end, trust me, but for now, we just have to find a way to keep you awake."_

 _"Yeah." Ashton said, her fear lowering with each passing second. "Yeah. You're right."_

 _"Of course." Fay said with a smile. "Speaking of which, I've got an idea. It's bound to work."_

 _"What is it?" Ashton asked as Fay took a hold of her hand with one of her's and lead her down the hallway._

 _"It involves a bucket of ice water." Fay answered. She then looked back to her friend, still smiling. "My mom threatens to do that to me if I don't wake up in the morning. And if she thinks doing it will wake me up in the morning, then it's bound to wake you up if you have a nap attack."_

It didn't work.

Nothing worked with her. When she feel asleep, she stayed asleep. Even throwing water on her didn't help very much as the only thing it did was jolt her awake, send her into shock, then she'd fall asleep again. And there was nothing that Fay could do to help her friend.

In all the years that she had known Ashton, she had seen the effects of what sudden sleep attacks did to her. It caused people to think that she was more interested in sleeping than in them, or that she just wasn't interested in what them in general and just wanted to get away from them, using the excuse of sleep to do so.

And even when she didn't fall asleep, she was always tired, like she wanted to go to sleep anyway. Her concentration also suffered as well, and it was a wonder she was still even in school. Fay had helped her get as far as she had gone because she took down notes on what the instructors had given and assisted her with her homework as well. But there were some things that she couldn't help with either.

Ashton had a job of refining the oil for the oil lamps and filling said oil lamps up for the miners in the lamp stamp part of the district when they ran out. They were fully capable of doing it themselves, but after hours of back breaking work in the mines, they would rather get as much sleep as they could and let someone else do it for them for a small fee.

It was one of the only jobs that Ashton felt she was capable of. Refining oil and filling oil lamps. Fay honestly felt sorry for her, but she hated the fact that she felt more like her mother at times and less like a friend.

She couldn't be around for Ashton all the time, and sometimes, it seemed as if she depended on her. Maybe it was because no one else was her friend. Maybe it was because her parents were busy with their lives as well.

But still, as much as she despised feeling like a parent to Ashton, she wouldn't leave her. She knew how Ashton felt about her condition. Hell, she had seen her cry over it, wondering if it would ever stop. And Fay was there to comfort her.

Ashton's family took her to the medics when she was twelve, and that was when she received her diagnoses. She didn't take any meds because of the side effects, and because Ashton didn't want to become depended on the drugs. So it was up to them to try and figure out another way to help her. But they found none. They never did, and that's when Fay just preyed that it would end when they got older.

And with Ashton now in the arena, Fay knew that they found a solution to their problem, because it was more than likely going to go away now that they were older. Just not in the way she'd have liked.

 **A/N: Well this if finally over. Thank God.**

 **Now for the generic New Year joke: Man, this is the first chapter I've posted all year!**

 **All kidding aside, we're one step closer to the games, hopefully only four or five more chapters. And in the next chapter, we'll be introducing what some of their illnesses are.**

 **So nobody noticed what was odd about the blog pictures for this long, so I guess I'll say the answer: None of them are smiling.**


	27. Time Moves Fast-

**Tribute Room # 7**

He knew that he had to get ready for the games, and in order to do that he was going to need some much needed rest. _A fatigued tribute is a dead tribute_. Carver Greene thought as he poured himself a glass of alcohol that had a dark oak colour to it's name. _Especially during the bloodbath._

He skipped over the fact that he'd have a massive hangover in the morning, but he figured that it was better than getting the shakes and being unable to concentrate as he broke out in cold sweat and got the chills. Also, a hangover was better than feeling like shit and thinking that the shadow of death was looming over him, just waiting to pluck his soul from his body and drag him to Hell.

No. No he wasn't going to be dragged to Hell because of the hangover, or the other tributes. When the gong went off, he knew his plan. He was going to barrel his way through everyone and take the supplies he'd need. And if things went really well he'd stay at the cornucopia and reap the remaining supplies for himself since there was going to be no team of bronholes this year. At least that he knew of, since the bronholes weren't teaming up with each other and he saw no alliance what so ever.

Carver smiled, knowing that while it was going to be tough in the arena, it wasn't going to be as tough as it was in normal years when the arena was normally dominated by the bronhole pack. With their superior numbers, weapons, supplies, and training, there wasn't too much that other tributes could do against them. Not unless they used the arena to their advantage. Or got lucky somehow.

In a one on one fight, most non-bronholes wouldn't stand a chance unless the conditions were right. Carver, however, knew that he wasn't like most non-bronholes. Just like back home, he guessed that he was a force to be reckoned with in the arena.

All he needed to do was survive the bloodbath and his chances of survival soared.

Still, he'd have to watch out for sneak attacks and tributes swarming him for a bag of supplies. He didn't want to get stabbed in the back, nor did he want to be in the middle of four tributes fighting for the same thing.

 _Grab some supplies and a weapon. Don't get stabbed in the back and don't get surrounded by desperate tributes. Simple._

But if there was one thing that stood in his way from victory and sure defeat, it was sleep. He needed that sleep, and with the alcohol he was going to consume, he'd get a pleasant buzz followed by drunkenness, and be finished with a blackout. Sure there were some that said that a blackout pass out wasn't actual sleep since it disrupted your sleep cycle and did something to your brain, something that he couldn't remember, but it was the only way, in his mind at least, to get some semblance of a pleasant rest.

A screen of black would hit you out of no where, and then you'd wake up. No nightmares, no awful thoughts, no nothing other than the bliss of waking up the next day. Bliss with a hangover.

Grabbing the glass of alcohol, that had once been a vile taste on his tongue, had become a welcoming friend, and downed it quickly. He felt the harsh liquid slither down his throat as warmth spread through his body, before slamming the glass down on the table.

 _This is damn good stuff._ Carver thought happily as he poured himself another mouthful into the glass, smelling the charred oak. _Better than those fucking painkillers they fed me when I broke my leg._

He still remembered that day in vivid detail. But it wasn't the fall that he thought of. Not really. It had been a big shock to him along with immense pain, but it wasn't what plagued his nightmares, like everyone thought it was. It was something worse, and something childish, which is why he didn't openly share it. They would have thought he was weak, and that he needed to grow out of his child like mind. He looked like he was nearly an adult, so he needed to act like one. So dreams of horrific monsters and a hellish environment that left him afraid of going to sleep, Carver told them that he was dreaming of the accident.

They believed him, and gave him more painkillers to help numb the pain and told him that everything was going to be all right. But Carver found that the narcotic painkillers they were feeding him was the source of his nightmares, and he stopped taking them. Not only that, but they made him constipated and made it feel like warm hands were slide across his body as well. He didn't like feeling either of those things anyway.

He sold those painkillers for extra coin, but the nightmares still stuck with him, and they wouldn't go away. It went on for so long, and nothing could seem to make them go away. But then he found a solution, alcohol. After all, he heard that people drank to forget, so why couldn't he?

His family didn't understand what he was going through, so he hid it the best he could, drowning himself in alcohol in order to avoid the shame of something so childish that came from something that should be helping him. And not getting over those nightmares. They were just nightmares, but they wouldn't go away.

He'd lie and say that he was better, but he eventually learned not to try and fool his family, as they somehow knew when he was lying.

Picking up the glass cup from the table, Carver thought of what the medics had diagnosed him with. Post traumatic stress disorder because of the stress his mind was being put through because of those pills the medics gave him. He couldn't stop thinking about them, and he didn't want to face them. Hell, anything to associate with monsters, or narcotic painkillers, he avoided as much as possible.

 _Those fuckers thought they were helping me._ Carver thought as he downed the harsh alcohol before slamming his cup back on the table. _But all they did was make me a mess._

He looked at Ivy, and wondered how she could cope with narcotics that were even more potent than what he had been given. After all, morphine and it's counterfeit product were only made available to those that could afford it, which consisted of the rich and the victors.

"Why do you drink?" Carver asked, thinking of how he had hardly talked to Ivy during his duration in the Capitol.

Ivy, who was sitting on the other side of the plush couch, downed a glass of honey brown liquid before she replied.

"To get some sleep."

"So you're like me," Carver said as he poured himself another glass of spirits. "Someone that longs for sleep, but can't get any the conventional way."

"Pretty much." Ivy said as she herself poured another mouthful of alcohol. "And I find that alcohol does a much better job than morphine ever did."

"So why not just drink?" Carver asked. "You said in the interviews that you get both alcohol and morphine, or something like that." So if one worked, why not just stick with it?

"Because of how good it feels." Ivy answered without missing a beat. "Seriously, it feels like a rush of delight along with a feeling of the warm and fuzzes. You feel so relaxed that it's almost like you've gone to heaven." Carver snorted at that statement as he remembered the torment that he was going through thanks to a painkiller that acted like morphine, but was much less potent.

"More like Hell." He bitterly told her as he downed another mouthful of alcohol before he slammed the glass cup on the table with more force than he meant to do. "If I could turn back time, I'd just suffer through the pain of having a broken leg and tell the medics to shove those painkillers up their fucking asses."

"You broke your leg?" Ivy asked with genuine curiosity. "When?"

"When I was thirteen," Carver told her as he poured himself another mouthful of alcohol. "But it still hurts sometimes. Especially when I put too much weight on it and use it for too long. Or it gets really cold outside, because you know of the District Seven winters."

"The one two years ago was a particularly harsh one," Ivy muttered. Carver could only agree as he remembered the sheets of ice that decorated the outside of his house and felt the numbing effects of the cold. "I had morph-fake, a fake morphine the victors try and make, to keep me warm. Along with blankets and heat." She added with a smile. "How did you survive it with your bum leg?"

"A wooden stove and clothes wrapped around my leg." Carver answered. "Even so, it wasn't a good year for me, which is why I hope that they don't make the arena a winter wonder land for some god forsaken reason."

"They won't." Ivy confidently stated. "Not unless they add lots of shelters and ways to make a fire. The last idiot thought that they could get away with giving all the tributes winter tents. But little did they know, that even though there were twenty four tents scattered around the arena, not all of them would be found. Not only that, but some tributes didn't even know how to set them up properly, leading to the howling winds to blow them over in the middle of the night, allowing tributes to freeze to death."

"Still, the aviators can be pretty stupid. I mean, Blandina's been good to us, but some of them can be pretty damn retarded."

"Tell me about it," Ivy giggled as she took a sip of her drink. "The stories my dad would tell."

* * *

 _The stories my dad would tell._

Because she had just up and said it, memories of a time where her dad wasn't the poster child for addition in District Seven came flooding back in her mind. It came so fast and so hard that she felt as if she had been hit by a falling tree.

When both of them had kicked from the withdrawal symptoms of morphine and it's fake counterpart and gotten medication to help them control their symptoms, they had been living quite a fulfilled life. Ivy had started to make friends again and her father had started to try and integrate himself into society again, and one of the first things he did was actually try and help his mentoring partner give kids a fighting chance in the arena. Ivy remembered her mother bearing tears the day both of them tried to better themselves. When her father wasn't as weighed down by psychotic depression and she wasn't weighed down with insomnia.

When she wouldn't be staring outside at the sunrise and the sunset, waiting for the hallucinations to kick in so that she wouldn't feel completely alone in the darkness. The voices gave her company, and the visual hallucinations would entertain her, until they became too real and would want them to go away.

If she was lucky, she'd never see or hear anything, all she'd get was yawning and some slowed thinking, but she was hardly ever that lucky, and would more often than not, get visual and audible hallucinations, but not always to the point where she thought they were real.

In a way, that made her feel closer to her father, as she knew kind of what he was experiencing with his psychotic symptoms. She knew that he wasn't a bad person, even through all the yelling, the swearing, the anger, the drugs, and so much more, she knew that he wasn't a bad person. Because if there were two things he never did it was abusing them and abandoning them. Those were the two things that he had never done to them and, as far as she could see, would never do to them.

Some might say that he'd neglect them because he took drugs and would lay on the floor stupidly, but Ivy knew that he had to have something to take away the pain of the voices and the sights that he was seeing. Because if he didn't, he'd kill himself.

But she knew that as much as the narcotics were hurting him, they were killing him as well. Just like how they were killing her. Both she and her father had HIV because of the needles, despite them doing their best to sanitize them.

They knew it was bad for them, they didn't need anyone to tell them that. But when the high you felt was a rush of something good, even if it was so small you felt just the tiniest bit better, you'd take it. Because god damn she didn't want to experience withdrawal, which included splitting headaches, the tremors, the chills, the muscle spasms, the vomiting, the stomach cramps and so much more. The worst was the cravings for more of those drugs, and the longer she went without them the more she wanted it. So much in fact that her heart would become frantic.

She had only wanted something to help her with her insomnia, but now she was drinking just to lesson the pain from morphine and fake morphine withdrawal. Yes, she did drink to sleep, but sleep was another thing to let her not feel the pain of withdrawal. And when insomnia was involved, life just became so much harder.

She wished that she had never touched the stuff and just dealt with her insomnia. Maybe then she could have helped her dad as well.

Still, maybe, just maybe, if she won, she'd be able to help herself, and her dad.

 _Mom has done so much for us_. Ivy thought sorrowfully _. I don't think I could have lasted as long as her._

Ivy looked at her glass of spirits and thought of how it was poisoning her, but she gulped it down anyway, thinking of how if she got back to District Seven, she'd back away from all this and help her dad once and for all.

"Is there a story that you'd like to share?" Carver asked, snapping Ivy out of her own world, reminding her that she was in someone else's company, and she had started to say something that sounded like she was going to continue, but didn't.

Ivy placed her glass on the table and sighed before she continued.

"When my father was younger, when he was still a sapling mentor, and when the escort was harassing the female tribute constantly the entire time until their final day in the Capitol, my father had had enough of that. Do you know what he did?"

"What?" Carver asked. Ivy could see that he was actually interested, so she told him.

"He got the other mentor and all the avoxes to put on animal heads like masks. You know, deers, boars, umm... some other kinds of large animals, and all of them went into the escort's room in the middle of the night, and woke her up by making a bunch of ridiculous animal noises. Well... Just my father and the other mentor, but the avoxes apparently helped by trying to make noises."

"Do avoxes even make any noises?" Carver asked.

"They apparently do," Ivy answered. "Never heard myself, but my father said that they make weird sounds, kind of like their struggling to say their words as they drown or something. Anyway, and the heads weren't cooked or anything, so the blood and guts were still smelling strong and dripping out of the decapitated heads."

"Gross." Carver commented as he wrinkled his nose, like he was actually smelling the stench.

"I know. And when the escort got startled awake, she screamed in fright as all of them got closer and closer to her, chanting and dancing like some kind of demonic group. She got so scared that she passed out."

"Oh God," Carver laughed. "They must have really gotten it later."

"Not really." Ivy answered as she took another sip of her alcohol. "She was apparently very spiritual, so she took that encounter as a sign that she was doing something to displease the spirits. Because of that, she was apparently better with the tributes after that. My dad said that she wasn't perfect, but she was more pleasant with them at least."

"There's just one hole in that story though," Carver explained to her. "How did they manage to sneak into her room and get all those supplies without anyone noticing?"

"Carver," Ivy said in a tone that said that it should have been obvious. "The avoxes handle nearly all the cooking, so getting the ingredients would have been simple. Also, aviators order all kinds of stuff, so ordering a boar's head wouldn't have turned too many heads. Also, the escort had never thought that nothing bad would happen to her, and was so confident that nobody would try to do anything to her because of the power she held over them, that she never locked her door or anything."

"Do you think every escort is like that?" Carver asked, wondering if someone was thinking the same thing as Ivy's father during his early days.

"I don't think so," Ivy said confidently. "Our escort is a lot smarter than that escort. And I think the other escorts are as well."

"Yeah. Guess you're right." Carver sighed as he continued to drink. A long pause came. "Got any other stories?"

"Plenty." Ivy answered with a smile.

 **Tribute Room # 4**

Looking at the piece of paper in his hand, Blue couldn't help but wonder what it meant.

Written in uneven letters with carbon stained finger prints and random spatters of paint, the paper read:

Busting out for one final horra! Let's celebrate in the actual Capitol! Meet at front entrance in disguise! -Splendor.

Blue didn't know if Splendor thought he was stupid enough to even think about going down there to try and escape the building, or if he was just being crazy like usual. Either way, he wasn't going to go down there because he knew that if he went down there it was just asking for trouble. Asking for a mud slide. Because if Splendor was being legitimate, the aviators would catch them trying to escape, and that would hurt his chances of surviving the arena. Not that he had high chances anyway since he knew that his escort was holding back on him.

The second thing that might happen if he were going to go down there was that Splendor was going to beat him, thus increasing his own chances of surviving the arena while Blue would be injured and would have less of a chance surviving the arena. What would Splendor do? Break his bones? Just hit him until he was so hurt that it continued to hurt in the morning? He wasn't going to take that chance.

So instead, he was going to stay in his room and figure out how to survive the arena when the odds were against him in every possible form. Well, almost. The only thing that he could see that was in his favor was that he wasn't some stick.

Looking at the ceiling, and wondering if the aviators were waiting to see if he'd actually go to the front entrance or not. After all, what did the escort say to him? We'll know if you do something bad? Yeah, they had to know if he was doing something bad because they were spying on him, and he hated that invasion of privacy. But that was the Capitol for you, they didn't give a damn about you unless you did something to them. Or they needed you for something. Especially if you were chosen for The Hunger Games.

That was the way the world worked though. It wasn't just the Capitol that would fuck you over for their own selfish needs, it was everyone. They'd betray you without a second thought if it meant furthering their agenda. People became friends with you because you had something to offer them, be it money or just some cheap entertainment where they could laugh at you after you did something stupid.

Because people didn't like to think of people that way, his parents had dragged him to the medics where they said that he had a disorder. Paranoid personality disorder to be precise. But that was just another thing that his family and others could use against him. When he questioned their motives, they'd just tell him he was paranoid. Nobody believed him on anything, and that was the way they liked it.

Those pills that the medics had given him, the ones that were supposed to stop him from thinking 'unconventionally', they made him submissive, stopped him from seeing the world from what it really was and what people were really like.

 _People like to see the good in others, but they aren't always good. They'll throw you under the bridge as soon as they have what they want from you and aren't afraid of you taking the fall for them._

He had seen it. He had experienced it. And he couldn't let go of how he was betrayed by people, because he knew that if they did it once they'd do it again in a heartbeat. And everyone was capable of doing it, which is why he didn't trust people in the first place.

Which is why The Hunger Games was something that reflected humanity as a whole. They're always looking out for themselves, and if anything stood in their way to success they'd be eliminated. People would do anything for themselves, including sacrificing a so called team mate. Life was just like The Hunger Games, only without the legal murder.

It was sink or swim, and people would gladly like to see you sink. Hell, some of them would even tie rocks to your legs and pushed you into the water for the laughs, or just to see what you'd do. But there were also people that'd do that just because they could.

So if Splendor thought that he was going to fool him into coming down and making him pay for something in one way or another, he had another thing coming to him.

With that said, Blue crumpled up the paper and threw it into the waste can.

 **Tribute Room # 11**

Soya, once again, looked at the note that the avox had given to her and Trail when Camella wasn't looking. It wanted them to try and escape the tribute tower and go into the Capitol and celebrate for some reason. She guessed that it was to celebrate one more day of being alive before they had to go into that cloud burst of an arena.

Trail said that he was going, and he was taking some clothes that one of the avox boys was wearing. They were about the same size, so it didn't look too out of place for Trail to be wearing them, but Soya doubted that it'd work. After all, just like how the peacekeepers guarded their wire ground, the aviators were more than likely doing the same as well.

"You sure you don't want to come?" Trail asked as he did up the last button on the shirt.

"I think it's for the best." Soya replied as she thought of what might happen if she did go out into the Capitol city. She might get nervous and become overwhelmed. And when that happened, she'd lose her sense of identity and start to want to try and go somewhere else. Perhaps home? Because as much as she hated District Eleven and the peacekeepers there, it was home, and it was the one place she knew best. And it was where her family and friends were. Sure she didn't have many, but she missed them dearly.

It was because of that damn disorder that she had. The one that made it a cloud burst to do anything fun. It wasn't impossible to have fun, but it was difficult for her. Dissociative Fugue itself wasn't what made life hard for her, but what set it off. Anxiety. That was what set off the disorder, rendering her a wandering mess.

"Are you sure?" Trail asked. "It could be fun. I mean, we're more than likely going to die in the arena, so why not live it up a little?"

"What if I don't get found in time for the games and we're all punished for it?"

"Well as long as we stick together I don't think we'll have too much of a problem." Trail tried to assure, but Soya knew that that wasn't going to be good enough.

"That's the problem." Soya countered. "I can't stay together with people if I'm nervous. I mean, just the thought of being lost in the Capitol might send me over the edge."

"Soya, I get lost easily." Trail told her. "Even back in District Eleven, I got lost. But I always found my way back." Trail then rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "Eventually." He then let out a laugh that almost sounded like a grunt.

"That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence." Soya deadpanned.

"Sorry." Trail told her with a laugh.

"And what if you're caught?" Soya asked seriously. "What do you think the escorts and the peacekeepers are going to do to you? You know how bad they were bad home, but now you're in their wire ground, who knows how they'll treat you."

"You mean like how Thorn treated Anna?"

"And the rest of us. Even if he didn't hurt all of us, you know that they can get away with practically anything and there's nothing we can do about it. And as I mentioned before, we're in their wire ground now." With just those thoughts racing through her mind, Soya didn't even want to chance that the Dissociative Fugue kicking in within Capitol wire grounds.

After all, Trail might mean well, but there was no guarantee that the others would be as helpful. Sure they seemed to maybe be all right people, some of them, but what if she disappeared without anyone noticing?

She doubted that, unlike her family and friends, they weren't going to risk searching the entire Capitol for her.

"I'm trying not to think about that right now," Trail informed her. "All I want to do is have some fun and not think about what's going to happen tomorrow, which is pretty hard when it's clouding over your mind."

Soya sighed for a good length, thinking of how she was going to fair in the arena when she could hardly fair well back home and it was only thanks to others that she was able to make it.

"Well, I hope you have fun," Soya said sincerely. "I'll be up here enjoying my final meal and seeing if I can spice up my moves for the arena."

"Well since you're not coming with us, I guess that's the best thing you can do."

"One thing before you go."

"Yes?" Trail asked with curiosity.

"Maybe you should take one of Camella's wigs as well. It might make you look more like an aviator." She suggested.

"Ahh," Trail sighed in frustration and enlightenment. "Of course." He said happily. "That's a perfect idea."

 **Tribute Room # 9**

With a beating heart that felt like it was going at it's own, unusual, rhythm, Harvey knew that he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. Not that he wanted to anyway. He had been awake for four days, so why stop now? And he knew that because of all the quartz stones he and Zora had smoked, he wouldn't be getting any sleep even if he tried.

Those nightmares, those persisting, horrific nightmares that assaulted him when he closed his eyes and tried to dig into bliss, that never happened. People always talked about how sleep solved a lot of problems, but Harvey had forgotten what it was like to have a dream that wasn't a nightmare.

He didn't know where it came from, nor did he really care, because the only thing that mattered to him was that he not go into that void of horror.

Lighting up a cigarette, he watched the creatures crawl around the room and listened to the sounds and voices that were talking to him. Creatures that were like giant black ants, but had the head of an oversized dog with long flat snouts and vicious razor like teeth.

When they growled, they sounded like angry crows, except more ferocious and devil like. And when they moved, they sounded like they were half organic and half robotic. Like a machine moving it's steel joints through wet meat.

Those things, they'd crawl everywhere, sometimes onto him as well. Though he could never feel them, they still freaked him out, especially when they decided to bite him and a torrent of blood would gush out of the bite wounds. Harvey would freak out and grab his wounds, only for them to suddenly stop bleeding and his flesh would be bite less.

And to add to that, there were those children singing. They weren't scary, not really, more annoying than anything else, but no matter what Harvey did they wouldn't shut up. He couldn't really understand them either, so that's what made it even worse for him.

They said he had nightmare disorder. Sometimes he felt like he was living a nightmare with all the shit he was experiencing, but when he actually fell asleep, he knew that he was wrong. That the dream world was even worse than reality. Though sometimes, he didn't even know if he was awake or not.

One moment he'd be doing something, then a sheet of darkness would wash over his vision, and when it cleared, he'd be doing something else. He had no memory of the transition, and he'd be scared that he was in some sort of dream land.

He felt disconnected with his body, feeling like it wasn't even real. But the bugs that kept on crawling under his flesh told him otherwise. Same with the spontaneous heat rushes where he thought his body would catch on fire, the rapid heart rate where he thought his heart was going to explode, and the razor grain headaches that made it feel as if his head was being crushed from the inside out.

Harvey's head twitch suddenly, and a loud crack rang out. Harvey freaked out a little and wondered if he had somehow snapped his own neck, but quickly found that he could still move. It didn't help him, as he wondered if he was really did and just living a repeated life of some other poor soul. He didn't know, nothing even felt real to him anymore.

Scratching his chest, where his heart was pumping and the bugs were burrowing, he felt skin tear open and felt warm blood start to drip out. _Good, maybe some of those god damn bugs will fucking fall out._

With that thought, Harvey felt his teeth grinding together as he thought of his family back in District Nine. They weren't any help. They weren't any help at all. The only thing they wanted him to do was to stop having nightmares, like it was that fucking easy to stop something that you can't even control.

His mother said that he needed to calm down before going to sleep and think happy thoughts. Load of shit didn't help. His father told him to man the fuck up, but that was easier said than done.

He was pretty sure that his father wanted an excuse to yell at him and to treat him like crap. He was sure that some how, his whole family was out to get him. They didn't care about him and the troubles he was going through, all they wanted to do was make him suffer so that they could feel superior. He was sure of that. Because if they knew how much he had been suffering because of those nightmares they'd have tried more to help him. Instead he turned to powerful stimulants that prevented him from sleeping. The people that sold those drugs to him did more for him than his parents and the medics ever did for him combined.

Harvey blinked once before he saw that the cigarette that he hardly touched was out and cold. Not only that, but for some reason, he was rubbing his free hand on the wall. Harvey was confused. At least, until one of those weird dog head ant creature things crawled onto his hand. Then all he felt was rage.

"Get off of me you fucking... Whatever you are!"

 **Tribute Room # 6**

If there was one thing that Diesel wanted more than anything, it was to have his grandfather by his side. He knew how to calm Diesel down and knew just what to say to him in his time of crisis. The ghosts didn't like him and would often go to nearly unimaginable lengths to keep the two apart, but that only motivated Diesel to seek his advice.

 _Grandpa Tarbeck was more than a little weird, but he was a shiny person._

One of the ghosts must have read his thoughts, as he expected, and slapped him across the face with it's unholy hand.

 **He was not shiny!** It shouted to him. **All he did was spread lies to you!**

 _Yeah! Who believes in people that reside in the stars_ _?_ Another ghost asked bitterly. _Only a crazy person!_

That's what he was told by people, that his grandpa was insane. That he was crazy and didn't know what he was talking about. And even though Diesel didn't know much, nor could he concentrate very well because of those damn ghosts, he know that there were things out there that couldn't be understood. Like why were the ghost haunting him and why were aliens stalking his grandpa?

He didn't know, and the ghosts wouldn't tell him. They just perceived his grandpa as a threat to their very being, and that was more than enough to tell Diesel that his grandfather knew more about them than they'd like him to know.

In fact, when the two of them were playing cards one day, he asked his grandfather about their condition when they were both relatively in the realm of sanity. Diesel remembered what he had learned from his grandfather about schizophrenia.

Schizophrenia, it used to be called the splitting of the mind, and as his grandfather put it, it was like walking in the realms of two worlds at the same time. That Diesel was walking in the reality of human kind and the reality of the spirit world. It made more sense to Diesel than the babble that the medics said to him. Because despite the pills they gave him, the ghosts were still there, screaming, talking to him, just not as loudly, and not as many talked to him. He wouldn't be able to see or feel them, but he knew that they were still there.

Although, Diesel couldn't figure out which reality was his anymore. He didn't even know if he was more in their reality or his.

Lighting up a ciggerete, one of the things that allowed him to be less in the spirit world, Diesel thought of the ghosts. They had been with him since he was thirteen. He hated them because of what they did to him. What they were doing to him.

He was scared of them. Scared that they'd take his soul and suck out this thoughts. Especially when he looked in a mirror. The medics said that he also had phasmophobia, and spectrophobia, all thanks to those damn ghosts.

"Why didn't mom ever understand that it was because of you fuckers that everything turned to shit?" Diesel asked with a stony expression and equally flat voice.

 **Because your mother's a fucking whore!** One of the ghosts answered.

"Figured you'd say that." Diesel muttered before he sucked on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of grey fog. For whatever reason, Diesel started to hack and cough profusely before he spat out a large gob of phlegm. It caused the ghosts to laugh, and Diesel just told them to shut up, though it did nothing to stop them.

Aside from his grandfather coming to help him, Diesel only wanted to be left alone. He didn't want to be with people, and that would have been fine except for the fact that he was never alone. Not only that, but he was expected to be going into The Hunger Games. There were people there. And even worse, the aviators wanted him to kill. Diesel didn't want to kill people.

The ghosts wanted him to do that from time to time, but he did his best to not comply. It was much easier to comply with harming himself than it was to go through with hurting people, because it was his choice to hurt himself. Another person didn't ask to be hurt, but if you hurt yourself, it was your own choice.

Not that he wanted to do either anyway.

* * *

Lexus had found what she was looking for.

It had been nerve racking, but she had eventually gained the courage and the resolve to find the items of destruction she had been seeking. Hidden in her escort's bed room, tapped under her bed, Lexus would have found it funny if it weren't for the situation she was going to put herself in since that was something her siblings did to try and hide things from their parents. It almost never worked as somehow, their parents knew every trick of the trade.

Through trail and error, Lexus and her siblings would think of it kind of like a game of how was shinier. The youngsters, or the elders? The three of them had thought of what they thought had been some ingenious spots to hide things, but somehow, they always managed to sputter.

And then there was one time they just stalled and dropped it. That was the time when her oldest brother came back with a dirty magazine. At first, he was proud of getting his hands on it, and she and her brothers looked at it and judged how beautiful the girls were, even if Lexus wasn't sexually attracted to them like her brothers were. They also guessed their age, what social class they were, and if they had maybe seen one or two of them before. Somehow, the conversation eventually turned to them wondering if they had all consented to their nude pictures being taken or not. Somehow, that turned into the most heated argument about the magazine.

And then both their parents came into the room, wondering if they were fighting or not. All three of them suddenly reacted in terror. All three of them screamed before her oldest brother attempted to throw the magazine out of a closed window. Her middle sibling jumped onto his bed, missed, and tried to look like he was doing something else. Lexus herself just shouted that she wasn't doing anything.

Lexus knew that they knew. She knew that her brothers knew that they knew. She knew that her parents knew that they knew what they knew. Lexus felt beads of sweat forming on her forehead as she looked back and forth between her parents and her brothers, who were doing the same.

Her parents then walked to the closed window that her oldest brother had tried to throw the magazine out of, and picked it up. They both looked through the magazine cover to cover, before tossing it gently onto her eldest brother's bed.

"They consented." Her father casually told them. "Even if they only did it for the money."

Then both of them walked out of the room. The three siblings just stared at the entrance of their room in shock. It had been something they didn't expect. They thought they were going to get in trouble for it. Instead, they had just scared themselves, and they didn't know what to do as they continued to stare and blink.

"Why don't adults ever close the door?" Her oldest brother moaned. To which then all three of them started to laugh.

Lexus laughed with that memory, thinking of how generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder was a big part of her life and how it made her both a wheel and an axle, but it didn't control her entire life. Just because she had more than five panic attacks everyday didn't mean that everything sent her into one. Sure, just about everything made her nervous, but that didn't always stop her. It was hard and she didn't like doing new things, or going to places she didn't feel comfortable with, but she did know what it meant to be at home.

Home was a place filled with fun times, even with her disorder looming over her. Her family and friends made an effort to make her feel at ease, and that was all she could ask for.

But she wasn't at home, and Lexus knew that in the arena, she was only going to get worse. Just thinking about the arena nearly sent her into another panic attack, and she hated that feeling. That feeling of helplessness when that happened. The shivers, the headaches, the racing heart, the racing thoughts, the sweat, the constricted chest and the tough breathing. It felt like the preparation for death.

Lexus didn't want to die, but she also didn't want to be in a constant state of terror even more than she already was. She didn't want to be scared every passing second in the arena. She didn't want to kill anyone, she didn't want to be horrifically murdered, she didn't want her family to see her having a panic attack, only to recover and have another one right after. She didn't want her family to see her in such a pathetic state nor did she want them to see her get killed in front of their own eyes.

 _If I die here_ , Lexus thought as she looked at the two plastic bags in front of her. One with several pink pills, another one with some off white powder that looked somewhat like cleaning solution. _At least they won't see me die before their very eyes._

Lexus let a tear fall down her face before she tore open the pill bag. Pink pills fell from the bag and landed on the floor before she grabbed them all and shoved them all in her mouth and dry swallowed them.

Lexus then ripped over the bag of off white powder and sprinkled it onto the floor and vacuumed it up her nose. She kept on sniffing at the floor until she was sure that nothing was left.

She instantly felt the burn inside her nose, like the inside of it had been douse in battery acid.

At first, all she felt was a burning and stuffy nose, and the sense of deep regret. But it didn't take long before Lexus started to feel the effects. She felt a rush of turbulent energy, to which Lexus started to flail her hands around. As more energy came to her, Lexus jumped up and started to hop in place as she flailed her hands in all directions.

But then the intensive chest pains came, and no matter how much she moved, she couldn't release enough energy to rid the strangling chest pain. Then her body started to get hot, like she was being baked alive. The veins in her eyes felt like they were expanding as her stomach tied itself knots.

Even though it was what she wanted, Lexus Marks, became afraid. It didn't help when her thoughts started to race, and she didn't even know what she was thinking about. _This isn't like any panic attack I've ever gotten._ One of Lexus' many thoughts said as the blood in her arms, legs, and face seemed to pulsate. _This is much worse. More painful._

Lexus then fell to her knees and started to claw at herself. Her veins felt like over pressured hydraulic hoses.

Lexus began hyperventilated as she scratched at herself and ran around the room, crashing into walls and knocking over ornaments.

After a while of crashing and banging, Lexus fell to the floor and started to roll around frantically, half growing half moaning as she continued to scratch at herself. Moments later she felt her body start to spasm. Her muscles seemed to be tightening as they burned themselves.

Lexus then felt something acidic make it's way up from her chest, through her throat, then start to foam at her mouth as she flailed around without her mind's consent.

 _If the cocaine doesn't kill me, the ecstasy will finish me._

And with that thought finished, Lexus Marks blacked out.

 **Tribute Tower Front Lobby**

She didn't know if they should be waiting anymore.

Paige had told them that they should wait for a little bit longer, but she wasn't sure if he was going to show up. When she had asked Stream if he wanted to get out of the building with her, Splendor, and whoever else was brave or stupid enough to try as well, he said that he'd have to think about.

So as Paige pulled some clothes from her escort's wardrobe and wore them over her own clothes, Stream decided whether he wanted to go or not. And Paige could see the dilemma within him. He wanted to go, but at the same time, he didn't want to go.

Before she left, Paige had asked him why he wouldn't want to go out to explore the Capitol, and he had responded sternly that she knew why.

And Paige did know why, because he was worried about getting angry and causing a scene. She had witnessed, and experienced, first hand, what Stream was like when he got angry. And it wasn't hard to get him angry. She had actually been surprised to see him in such a miserable state when being interviewed. It hardly seemed like him.

But it reminded her of how she felt after she stole something that didn't belong to her. Guilty. And though to her it was just another word it was the word she'd use to describe what Stream felt. Did he feel that way every time he had an outburst? Did he feel that way after he nearly strangled her to death? Paige could still feel his hands attempting to crush her throat.

Did he feel stupid? Worthless? Like there wasn't a damn thing that he could do? That all you were doing was disappointing people with your acts and behavior? If so, she fully understood what he was going through.

Her father meant everything to her, and yet, when she stole, it not only made her look bad, but also her dad. People wondered what was wrong with her. She wondered what was wrong with her. Why couldn't she help herself?

She was the mayor's daughter, she could have nearly everything she wanted if she asked. Instead, she stole like someone that was starving, and would cloth it over. It made people question her father's ability to run the district, because if he couldn't even control his daughter, how could he control a district?

It was all because of her Kleptomania that she continued to steal worthless things. It was the reason that her father was being questioned, and why the Capitol might make him step down from his job. Because if the M-Jays got even more out of control, her father would seem like an authority figure that was nothing more than a boot. It would throw the district into chaos.

Her mother was less affected by all this because her father was such a large figure in the district. She got her fair share of the blame, but nothing compared to her father.

And because she couldn't stop stealing, because she couldn't stop her father from being ridiculed, because she kept on getting punished and disappointing people, she became depressed. Paige hated herself and felt as if she couldn't sink any lower and was trapped in an eternity of everlasting darkness.

Adjusting the bright orange wig she had stolen, by choice, from Rufina, Paige looked at the other tributes that were waiting on Stream.

Arguing with each other was Splendor, Thor, and Anna. Also waiting were the other bronholes; Radiance, Terra, and Marsha, who all looking like they couldn't care less about waiting for someone. And then there was Nick, Dayta, Spark, Zora, Falco, Mink, Trail, Ryan, and Ashton, all in various degrees of waiting. While most of them were nervous about getting caught by the escorts or peacekeepers, Zora and Ryan seemed to be the ones harboring the most annoyance on their faces.

Paige was surprised so many tributes had decided to show up.

"I say we go right now." Thor said with a sense of finality. "We've been waiting too god damn long, the escorts might notice we're gone at any moment and our chance to escape this building will be all for nothing."

"Well we had to wait for you didn't we?" Anna retorted, to which Thor looked directly at her with a snarl.

"We also had to wait for you too." He said back.

"I had to wait for both of you." Splendor told the both of them before he jerked his head sharply left, letting out a loud pop. "God that felt good."

"He obviously doesn't want to come." Zora jumped in. "And I for one am sick of waiting."

"See," Thor said as he pointed to Zora. "She knows what we need to do."

"Shush you," Anna countered. "We had to wait for you, so we can wait for another minute."

"You just really want to piss me off, don't you, you jack rabbit."

"That's just a bonus." Ann replied with a smug smile.

"Why you-" Thor growled before Splendor got between Thor and Anna.

"I want to leave as well, so you know what, let's go, sick of waiting anyway."

"Finally." Thor said. "We can agree on something."

Paige didn't want to leave Stream behind if he really wanted to come. So despite how uncomfortable she felt, she decided to speak up.

"Come on guys, just one more minute."

"If he hasn't arrived by now he won't be coming at all." Splendor told her the exact same moment another voice called out.

"Thank God."

Everyone looked towards the sound, and what Paige saw was something that he could barely contain.

She wanted to laugh, but she didn't, because what she saw was Stream wearing a dress that was too big for him and a bright purple curly wig.

Splendor had written to come disguised, but all the girls, minus Zora, wore dresses while the guys wore suits. All Capitol tailored. Stream must have grabbed the first thing he saw in their escort's wardrobe and didn't think to check his own, or ask the avoxes for one of their sets of clothes. The Capitol supplied clothes for them in their own wardrobe to have some comfort in the Capitol, but that fact seemed to have flown over Stream in his panic to arrive.

Paige noticed that most of the tributes were struggling to contain their laughter. But she heard howls of laughter come from Splendor, Thor, Anna, Zora, and Ryan. In fact, from the volume they were creating, she didn't even think that they were even trying to hide the fact that they were laughing.

Paige suddenly felt very sorry for Stream, and very worried for his reaction.

"What is that?" The five laughing tributes asked as they practically rolled on their sides.

Stream growled as he gripped the front of the dress, looking away.

"My disguise." He muttered, which only made them laugh louder. "It's not funny!"

"You're right. You're right." Anna laughed, not becoming any quieter.

"Its hilarious!" Splendor and Thor shouted at the same time before they continued to laugh and hold their sides.

"Don't look at him." Splendor told himself through his giggles. "Don't look at him."

"Hey, Stream," Thor said. "Twirl for me!" That seemed to get him, Splendor, and Anna into hysteria.

"Shut it assholes before I shove my foot up your ass so hard you'll be a couple pairs of retarded slippers with a spare!"

It took a while, but the five of them actually managed to calm down enough for them to stand back up. Not enough for them to stop laughing, but enough that they could walk.

"Okay..." Splendor said through some more giggles. "Okay... I think... I think I'm good."

"Great. Now can we get the hell out of here?" Stream asked as he walked towards the group with his arms crossed. "I don't want to be in this for any longer than I have to be." Paige noticed that his face was a deep red shade, and it made him look more like the young teenager that he really was.

Paige had stopped laughing, but her smile was still on her face. It was the second time Paige had seen Stream for something other than an angry person ready to destroy something or something.

It once again reminded her of herself. People in the district only knew her as the mayor's daughter that stole from you. Just like how Stream was probably only known as the angry kid. Outside of what their problem was, they knew nothing about them.

Paige had came to accept it, but she didn't like it. She wished that she didn't have to steal, that people could see beyond that. Probably like what Stream wanted.

As everyone went for the entrance of the building, Paige went up beside Stream.

"I'm glad you decided to come." She said truthfully.

"I hope I don't regret it." Stream, still red faced, answered with a small smile. "But I think a night out in the Capitol, defying the rules made up by the aviators will be fun."

Paige nodded before the voice of Thor cut through the air.

"Hey Stream, can you say; I'm a pretty princess?"

Stream's face then changed to one of annoyance before he charged for the bronhole.

"I'll kill you!" He screamed as Thor ran outside, laughing.

 **Security Room**

It was his job to report illegal actives within the building.

And right on the screen in front of him, in the reception area, were sixteen tributes leaving the building. They weren't allowed to exit the building, and he could see through their disguises. Both he and his fellow avoxes could see through them since they knew every Capitol citizen that was stationed in the tribute housing unit.

They looked like they were having fun, something that he wanted to do. But he was stuck in the stupid security room instead. With his tongue cut out, he couldn't talk back to those that ordered him around. And if he tried to disobey them, they'd punish him.

He should call the peacekeepers and the escorts, he knew that he should. But at the same time, he didn't want to.

He looked to one of his co-workers, and she gave a shrug. He smiled and just leaned back on his chair, allowing the tributes to escape.

Tributes had tried to escape before, but they had never used the entrance. Instead, they tried complicated plans to try and escape. These tributes, literally, simply went to the door and walked out. Sure they tried to disguise themselves, but still, in his eyes, it was a bold move.

He then wrote on his notepad: If anyone asks, we'll just say we thought it was the escorts and their friends.

His fellow avoxes nodded before he ripped the page out of his notepad and ate it.

 _I am so going to regret this_. He thought. But then he thought of how much trouble the escorts were going to get into as well. That allowed the smile on his face to continue showing off teeth. _So totally worth it._


	28. -If You're Too-

**A/N: Warning long chapter ahead. If you're going to read the whole thing all at once, make sure you've got nothing better to do for a while.**

* * *

 **Capitol Streets**

Walking down the streets of the Capitol, nearly all the tributes was commenting on how shiny it looked. From the pristine architecture to the way the city lit up with fancy neon lights and eye catching advertisements. Everything looked so beautiful to everyone.

They were bathing in the sights and muttering in awe. And Radiance couldn't blame them as it was a different sight than than ones that were stuck in the districts. Even in District One, the district of luxury, not many things looked at golden as the ones in the Capitol. The only exceptions was the victor village and the justice center. But even then, the Capitol was vibrant with colour and excitement, making the victor village and the justice center pale in comparison.

However, Radiance couldn't have cared less as she walked past the buildings and the exotic looking citizens.

One of the reasons was because of her major depression that she couldn't enjoy the sights like the rest of the tributes were. And if that wasn't all, the voices and the sights of her tormentors continued to harass her every step of the way thanks to her psychosis. Because of those things, everything to Radiance seemed draby and pedestrian. Something to look at, but nothing special.

In a way, the royal environment of the Capitol streets seemed to mock her. Like it was saying that everything was all fine and dandy when it really wasn't. _Because those lazy asses deserve all this royalness through our suffering._ She thought as she looked at the crowd of Capitol people they were passing. One woman caught her attention in particular because of all the jewels she was wearing.

With rings on nearly all her fingers and luxury necklaces with large gems dangling on them, Radiance wondered if they were one of the gems that Loyal might have cut and buffed up to perfection. A task that, in her opinion, took nearly as much skill and patience to accomplish as it did to perfect a training technique at the academy.

She had tried to help Loyal a couple of times with making gems like that, only to cut it wrong or buff it not enough, too much, or not correctly, resulting in her best friend having to do it all over again. She even remembered one time where she accidentally made a small ruby crack down the center because she had cut it wrong. _How I cried that day_. Radiance thought as she yelled to herself and cried for being such an idiot. Lucky for her, Loyal didn't seem that mad at her.

 **He didn't really mean those words.** The man said with her face mere inches from her's. **He was pissed and just didn't want to hurt your fragile feelings. He's too soft on you.**

Radiance did her best to filter out the hurtful words that the man and woman that nobody else could see as the sixteen other tributes looked for a suitable bar or nightclub to enter.

As they passed more aviators, Radiance felt even more irritated with their talk and actions. Especially when it came to the kids running around with their toy swords and shields. How they were pretending to be tributes in the arena, like it was all fun and games. Radiance wanted nothing more than to beat them with their fake weapons. Those kids were acting like it was all all for fun and games. _But then again,_ Radiance thought. _For them, it is fun for them to watch us get slaughtered. And to them, it is just a game._

She then heard Splendor let out another laugh.

"It's not funny!" Stream shouted again, clearly irritated at Splendor, who had tired and failed to stop laughing for the entire duration of being outside the tribute tower.

"Yeah, give it a rest already." Thor told him, also getting irritated at Splendor. "It was funny before, and it still is in a way,"

"Hey!" Stream interrupted curtly.

"But it's not that funny anymore." Thor continued like Stream hadn't said anything.

How Splendor could still be in such a good mood after all this time and during the circumstances they were facing, Radiance did not know. But she hated it. The man and woman said that he was sucking the joy out of her, and she was beginning to think that they were right. While she barely had any energy and joy, Splendor seemed to be overloaded on it.

She looked at the other tributes, and saw that while they weren't as happy as her district partner, they weren't down in the dumps either. _Why can't I be happy?_ Radiance wondered intensely.

 **Because you don't deserve to be happy.**

Joy. She thought sarcastically. She just hoped that they'd just pick a stupid bar already so that she could start drinking. It didn't make her feel much better, but it numbed her and it made the shadowy man and woman quieter.

"How about that one?" Anna suggested, pointing to one building that was serving alcohol.

"Too calm." Thor replied.

"How about that one?" Trail asked, pointing to another.

"Too much light." Thor replied.

"How about that one?" Anna asked again.

"Women's only." Thor growled. "It says on the sign right there."

"God, why so picky?" Mink asked critically. "It doesn't have to be perfect, let's just go some place where we can get drunk." A chorus of agreements came after her statement, to which Radiance became a part of.

"You idiots," Thor retorted. "I want to get wrecked just as much as you do, but we don't want to get caught and sent back to the tribute tower too early. Plus, I want to get out of this stupid suit and not be recognized. So we need a place that's crowded, a little wild, and something with low lights and hopefully loud music. If the Aviators inside are drunk or drugged up, so much the better."

"Well we could just beat anyone that threatens to call the peacekeepers on us." Zora suggested readily.

"Say that after fifty aviators recognize us and call for an army of peacekeepers all at the same time." Thor countered.

"Why should we even bother?" Radiance asked. "Our escorts will eventually find out we're missing and send peacekeepers to look for us anyway."

"But they won't know where we are." Thor told her. "And the Capitol is huge, they won't even know where to start. And even if they knew which place we're in, we can just easily blend into the crowd and escape."

"Yeah, because when we take off these aviator clothes we'll be sooo unrecognizable." Mink said with heavy sarcasm.

"Well if you want to keep it on be my guest." Thor growled. "But I can't be the only one to want to wear my own clothes." A chorus of agreements came from the other tributes. "So all of you, shut up and look for something that meets the requirements."

"How about that one?" Anna asked, pointing to another place.

"Anna, I swear to God, if it's another," Thor looked to where Anna was pointing to before pausing. "That'll work." He said with some genuine pleasantness.

Radiance looked to where the building was, and saw that it was a smooth, fancy building that was surrounded by bright neon lights advertising it's name: The Sinning Temptation. And underneath that sigh, it also advertised in smaller, but no less brighter text: Where all temptations are meet.

 _Cute._ Radiance thought with sarcasm.

"And look! Look!" Anna squealed in delight. "It serves ice tea! We have to go!" It was then that Radiance saw all the stick tributes start to agree profusely.

"Forget that!" Splendor shouted over all of them. "It serves energy bombs! We definitely have to go!" Radiance then heard her fellow careers start to agree as a look of confusion came over the sticks faces.

"What are energy bombs?" Anna asked with curiosity.

"A drink that gives you energy." Splendor explained. "They give it to us at the academy if they thought we were slacking or looked tired or needed an energy boast."

"Or amphetamines." Thor jumped in. To which then everyone except Terra looked at him with even more confusion. A moment of silence occurred before Thor spoke again. "What?" He asked with genuine confusion. "They never gave you speed when you were attending the academy?" He looked to Splendor, Radiance, then Marsha. All of them sported a look that asked if he was crazy. Radiance herself felt that he was crazy. Why would the academy give the people they were training amphetamines? "Crazy." Thor simply stated.

"Is that why District Two seems to send in crazy and violent tributes?" Paige asked.

"Partly." Thor answered. "But enough about that, we need to find a way to get in. And for that, we need a distraction. Now, who's the most intimidating looking tribute among us?"

Radiance looked around, as did everyone else. But Radiance felt that the answer was obvious. And apparently, nearly everyone else did as well, as all eyes looked towards one figure who was holding a newspaper in one hand and a lighter in the other.

Just when the flame was mere inches away from the newspaper, Nick finally noticed that everyone was staring at him in near understanding silence.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" Nick asked with concern.

"Perfect, you're chosen." Thor told him.

"For what?" Nick asked, the flame from his lighter still not getting any closer to the newspaper.

"Shut the fuck up and I'll tell you. Now everyone that's eighteen will stay out here, while the rest of you will-"

"I think only four of you should stay out here." Dayta chimed in, causing Thor to look at her.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because we could all divide into groups of four. A group of four stay out here, then the rest of the groups sneak in the way you want them to."

"There's a problem with that though." Splendor said quickly. He didn't give time for Dayta to ask what the problem was before he answered. "There's seventeen of us and four groups of four equal sixteen."

A sudden pause came within the group. Radiance felt that while it was significant for them, nobody else around them cared as the Capitol city was busy with the sounds of music and people.

"Someone has to stay behind." Dayta finally concluded after some thinking.

"Okay," Thor said without the slightest hesitation. "Princess Outgo will stay outside."

"Hey, why?" Stream asked in a whiny kind of tone.

"Because you're the youngest." Splendor quickly jumped in.

"Yeah, what he said." Thor said without even seeming to think.

"That's not fair."

"The world ain't fair." Zora swiftly told him without even looking at him. "Now tell us you're plan, Thor."

"Well, I've devised a plan that'll allow some of you to hopefully sneak past the guards and into the club. Now, who's eighteen and wants to help me with the distraction? I'll need at least one other male with me."

"Ohh ohh oohh! Pick me! Pick me!" Splendor said like an over eager child as he waved his right hand frantically.

"Fine." Thor said. "Anyone else?"

Radiance noticed that Marsha, Zora, and Anna were volunteering as well. Thor choose Zora and Anna. "So Splendor, Nick, Anna, and I will be part of the distraction group. The rest of you, except Stream, will then sneak past the guards when they're distracted enough. Now, this might work if nobody blades each other. Except for us, the distraction group. Blade yourselves and the rest of this groups as much as possible."

"Thy flud fe wfhant to glade thach othar?" Marsha asked with that broken speech of her's. Radiance found that while she could understand Marsha, it still made it hard for her to understand in a way.

"Not literally," Thor explained with some harshness behind his voice. "Just don't draw any unwanted attention to each other unless you're part of the distraction group."

"Ohh." Marsha and everyone else, minus Terra, said in understanding. Radiance briefly wondered if all District Two slang was a violent and crude as that. _But then again, it is District Two._

"So how are we supposed to distract the door guards?" Anna asked, to which Thor smiled widely.

"Trust me everyone, sex sells, because if somehow, the mocking jays and the duelbeaks got together and started arguing about their games and their m-jay plans, and two elephants started fucking each other in front of them, even they would stop and stare."

Radiance just stared at Thor like he was crazy. The rest of the tributes looked at him the same way, but mixed with confusion. A pause came from everyone.

"Wfhere are fe goning fo find thew elephants?" Marsha asked with extreme confusion.

"Some aviator's got to have a couple of them?" Anna said, just as bewildered.

"The better question is, how are we going to get them here and start fucking each other." Falco told them. _This is the stupidest plan I've ever heard_. Radiance said to herself as she sighed internally and externally.

"Not literally!" Thor shouted with annoyance. "Ugh. Never mind. Infiltration group, go over there and get ready," Thor said, pointing to a part of the building close to the entrance, but out of the way of the line of aviators waiting to get into the booming nightclub. "Distraction group, get over here and let me explain what we're going to do."

* * *

 _Ugh, of course, everyone gets distracted by sex._ Radiance thought with annoyance as she, Terra, Marsha, and the rest of the sticks watched Splendor and Thor at work in the middle of the street near the entrance of the nightclub they were going to infiltrate.

"Yeah! Yeah! Who's your daddy!" Thor cried out in glee as aviators, both standing and passing by, looked at Splendor in his compromising position. With his face in front of Thor's groin, it was hard not to see what was happening. And the fact that Splendor sounded like he was half chocking and half sucking on something made it even worse.

Thor held the back of Splendor's head as he pulled and pushed him in perfectly timed intervals. "Yeah! Suck it! Suck it dry, bitch!" Thor continued to yell.

Radiance could see the reactions of the aviators. It clearly reflected the tributes she was with. Some looked with horror, some were laughing, some were just weirded out. But all anyone could do was stare at the two teenagers out in the street doing their shameless act. Radiance herself found it strange, but nothing to be too interested in. After all, she didn't really care.

Radiance looked away from the silly act and looked at the door guards in red, who were shouting at Splendor and Thor to stop their antics with no success. Finally, one of them lifted up their hand and seemed to speak into his watch.

"Security. We've got a problem at the front entrance." He said just as Thor made another sexual comment.

"Deep throat it you slut! Deep throat!" At that same moment, Splendor seemed to gag on what he was sucking.

Moments later, two large aviators came out of the club, wearing the same red suits and ties as the front entrance guards, and walked towards Thor and Splendor with a slight swagger in their step. And while they weren't big by career standards, they were certainly more muscular than a lot of Capitol figures that Radiance had seen.

They walked past the line of people waiting to get inside the club and got right beside the two teenagers, who seemed to not even notice them.

"All right you two," one of them said sternly. "That's enough out of you." One then grabbed Splendor, while the other grabbed Thor. They both then pulled them away from each other, and it was revealed to everyone that Splendor was actually sucking a popsicle that was strategically placed at Thor's crouch area. "You're making the customers feel-"

"Hey!" A new voice came out. It was harsh, it was rough, and it was accompanied by someone that looked equally as rough as his voice. "That's my whore and his customer you're messing with!" Nick, even with his hood covering his face, the shadows that were cast on his face and the facial burns made him look like a violent thug. That, and he looked to have the muscles to back it up. The security guards were undoubtedly, surprised and scared by his appearance. "He's a paying customer!" Nick shouted to the guards as he pointed towards Thor. "And if he's not satisfied, I won't get paid!"

"Sir," one of the guards said, doing his best to retain his bravado. "You can't prostitute on this property."

"Moving in on my turf, huh?" Nick snarled at them. "I'll show you what happens to people that move in on my turf. Enforcers!"

Then from the surrounding crowd, Zora and Stream jumped out and punched the two unprepared guards before they started to beat them up. _Those two aviators never stood a chance._ Radiance thought with little sympathy.

Radiance then looked at the front entrance, and saw even more red suited guards run out as the single guard at the front entrance was panicking. He wasn't watching the door as much as he was now watching Splendor, Thor, Nick, Zora, and Stream fighting the red suited aviators.

"Now's our chance." Radiance heard Anna say before all of them ran into the now bronzley guarded club. The common Capitol citizens distracted by the fake gay sex and the fighting, while the club guards were too distracted trying to get order back in front of their property, to stop the group of teenagers from going into the building.

As they snuck past the doors, Radiance noticed the lack of security within the building. She guessed that they relied more on the front entrance guards, maybe thinking that nobody would even try to sneak past them. _Pitiful, arrogant, aviators._

 **The Sinning Temptation Men's Bathroom**

Someone was puking their guts out in the bathroom stall.

It was loud, and it seemed to never end. And as the wet, chunky vomit meet the toilet water, Spark only had one, dark thought running through his mind. _Weakness_. And it wasn't because of all the alcohol that person had consumed, it was because Spark was thinking about himself and his condition. And the Capitol in general.

As he waited for the distraction team to come his way, he thought of how the Capitol liked to take the easy way out. His escort, Aelia, and probably the rest of the aviators, liked to stay thin. And in order to do that, did they try to diet or exercise? No. They did drugs that kept them up all night, got surgery, and puked their food out.

Spark still remembered the moment on the first training day when he heard Aelia vomiting in the bathroom. He had thought that she had drank too much alcohol or was just sick. He then found out that she hadn't drank any alcohol, nor had she gotten sick on the food like Anna did during the train ride to the Capitol. No. Aelia puked her guts out because the avoxes had served her favorite food that day and wanted to taste it as much as possible. Not only that, but she said she had to keep up her slim figure and didn't want to go for surgery again so soon after her previous one.

Spark had felt sick because of that. He had to work hard to get where he had been, and even then he wasn't happy.

He still remembered that fat boy that couldn't make friends with anyone at school, or most of the district in general, because he was a neon and his body showed it. So he starved himself, devoiding himself of food and only drinking as much liquids as deemed necessary. He'd jog or run for miles at a time to shed those undesired pounds. Always telling himself to run just another fifty feet to rid himself of those few extra calories. Spark would also do numerous push ups and sit ups, because while his legs were tired, his arms and stomach weren't. He stopped doing push ups when his arms became too weak to even do ten.

He had worked for months, years, to gain a body that wouldn't be ridiculed, facing the consequences. Facing pain and suffering both mentally and physically. It gave him anorexia, and depression. But the aviators only needed to puke their guts out because of some kind of drink they'd take. They could eat as much food as they wanted. And if they got too thin or too fat or some other kind of imperfection, they'd have reduction or corrections surgery to correct themselves, learning nothing.

Feeling his rotten teeth and gums from malnutrition and his vomiting phase, and feeling the wig of medium length brown hair that he stole from his escort, Spark thought of his dry, thinning hair that was falling out at a rapid rate.

And because he had washed the make-up off his face, he could see his shallow cheeks and sunken eyes.

And then there was the rest of his body... Dear God, the rest of his body...

"We're here!" Spark heard Splendor say in a sing song tone.

"At last." Spark said. "I thought I was going to have to live in this bathroom for the rest of my life."

Then one by one, Splendor, Thor, Nick, Stream, and Zora, climbed into the club bathroom by crawling through the window.

"Did everyone make it?" Nick asked as he ripped off the Capitol clothes and showed off his trashy district ones. The same ones that he was reaped in. A hooded grey jacket and Black cargo pants.

"Everyone made it," Spark answered as he helped Stream to the floor. "I must admit, it went a lot smoother than I imagined it would." Spark then noticed that Splendor's clothes looked like they had had paint thrown haphazardly on them. He didn't even know what colour they were originally supposed to be, but he guessed that the shirt was supposed to be white while the pants were supposed to be of light blue denim.

"It's because the aviators are stupid and arrogant." Thor told him, taking his Capitol clothes off to reveal a black hooded sweatshirt and dark blue denim pants.

"Much like you District Two bronholes?" Zora asked with a crooked grin as she shook her arms in her dark denim jacket and light red shirt, coupled with a pair of denim pants.

"We aren't all stupid." Thor told her. "And at least we have to arrogance to back it up."

"So what's this guy's deal?" Steam asked as he threw the dress and wig onto the floor, revealing his bright orange t-shirt and light denim pants. It seemed that everyone in the bathroom but him and Thor had clothes that were messy and in semi-poor condition. But Spark rationalized that it was because they had to worry about more than just their clothes. Splendor on the other hand was from District One, and he just seemed to brutalize those clothes with paint. "He's been barfing since we've got here."

"Who cares?" Zora asked coldly. "It's not our problem."

"Right," Thor agreed. "Let's get out there and meet the others."

"The others found a table, I'll take you to them." Spark told them, thinking of how they were waiting for them to arrive.

The six of them then headed for the bathroom exit, passing the avox guy that was silently standing by the sinks with a variety of items that included hand soaps, hand towels, a jar of white pills, and condoms. He looked at them as they passed, and the six of them did as well. But Spark didn't think that he was going to be a threat, he didn't seem to care when Spark came in, nor did he do anything when the five others came in through the window. Spark nodded to him, and the avox did the same.

Spark then opened the door to the actual club, and the loud, blaring, intense music that shook your bones became even more quacking and loud. The six of them exited, but were stopped by an aviator male that was looking at the six of them with a surprised gaze.

The six teenagers looked at him, and he looked back. Spark rationalized that he was probably surprised to see five males come out of the bathroom at the same time with a single female. Spark couldn't help but think about what was going through that man's mind and internally laughed.

"What are you looking at, faggot!" Thor shouted angrily at him. His voice partly drowned out by the music. "You want us to have a gay orgy with you?" Thor then stepped past Spark and got right in the man's face. "Beat it! Woof!" He said with a low and intense tone as his face shot towards the man's, causing the aviator to jump back, startled, before he walked away. "Let's get to the others."

* * *

"What's taking them?" Anna impatiently asked. Her slightly worn out red and black flannel shirt and denim pants currently making her look like someone working out in the fields. Mink on the other hand, was wearing a dark purple shirt and cargo pants, her best clothes, something that her family made her wear because it was reaping day. "We've been waiting for them for forever!"

"Well they do have to lose those aviator guards and find an opening in the building." Falco rationalized. Her wore a simple white shirt and black pants. Mink guessed that his family made him wear his best clothes as well, since she could see that his white shirt was near immaculate.

"Yeah, but, how long does it take for that to happen?" Anna asked as she drummed her fingers on the glass table. To Mink, it looked like crystal. It seemed to be perfectly clean with not a scratch or chip to it's name. She wondered how the aviators could keep it in such mint condition. But she then rationalized that they probably got a whole new one when it got chipped or something. _After all, how much meat did our escort, Luciana, throw away when she had enough? I'd like to think that the left overs go to the avoxes, but somehow, I don't think she'd be that kind._

Mink looked at the the partying aviators, all drinking and eating and taking drugs. All of them celebrating the day before the games started. All of them rotting for their deaths in a bloody fashion.

She had heard some of the conversations that they had said, and they were disappointed with them. When the quarter quell was announced, they thought they were going to get mentally unstable tributes. Ones that were violent and would offer a good show. She heard some of them talking about her and her diagnoses and how they thought that she was going to be something else. Mink couldn't help but snort at that. _They don't know a damn thing._

Sure she wasn't living her own life, but if they thought that her having dissociative identity disorder would automatically make her an unstable psychopath, they had another thing coming. She wasn't anything like that. Sure she wasn't afraid to fight, nor was she afraid to argue with people, but that didn't make her someone that would want to chop people up and lick the blood off her butcher knife.

So they waited for the other Mink Prather. The one that they thought was going to be a remorseless killer _. Oh how wrong they'll be._ Mink thought as, from what she had gathered, the other Mink was a nicer, calmer person than she was. _But what if there's a third or fourth Mink Prather?_ Mink wondered. As far as she knew, there was her, the fake Mink, and then there was the Mink that everyone knew and loved. But what if there was a Mink nobody told her about? A Mink that the aviators wanted?

Mink shook her head, thinking about how it wasn't her problem. It wasn't her life.

"Have the drink been ordered yet?" The voice of Thor asked over the booming music.

Mink looked up from her thoughts and saw the five tributes that had been the distraction team now at the table. The five of them, plus Spark, then flopped onto the semi-circler couch. Mink had to admit, it had a good view of the club. From where they were, they could see the dance floor with it's flashing lights, something that Marsha, Trail, and occasionally, Anna, would get entranced by. Which is why the three of them wore shaded glasses and ear plugs. Mink still remembered Anna and Marsha freaking out during the chariot rides, and she wondered what that was about.

They could also see some of the areas where there were strippers pole dancing, and an overall good view of the place.

The building was packed though, and Mink couldn't believe how many people there were. There seemed to be a thousand people inside the building. And the things that Thor wanted, the place was black but see able. There were also quick flashes of colour that made it seem like that dancers were moving weirdly, like someone couldn't decide which colour they wanted to flash, so they just flashed them all rapidly and randomly. And the place was huge. She had to admit, it was fitting their requirements so that they could blend in plain sight, even with their district clothes, but it was still exotic and seemingly fun. _Nox and the others would love this._

"Not yet." Anna told them before she turned and started to look around for a server. When she spotted one, she not so subtly started calling her over. "Oy! Hey you! Server girl! Hey! Hey! Hey!" Anna then started to wave her arms above her head. "Hey! Hey! Hey server girl! Pay attention!"

Mink saw who she was trying to flag, and she didn't seem to be in any hurry coming towards their table, taking orders from other aviators as she passed them. "Get your generator breasts and your fat ass and generator tan over here you whore!" Mink then saw the aviator server girl snap her head towards Anna like she suddenly got super hearing and glared. "Yeah you! Over here ya bimbo with daddy issues!"

The aviator girl then came over to them with an irritated look on her face as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms towards them.

"What did you say about me?" She demanded. Up close, Mink was surprised. The girl looked like she was in her early twenties and looked perfectly natural. With a slim body, silky black hair, and milky white skin, Mink would say that she looked like she could belong in District One if she had a little more muscle and had blonde hair. This is... Weird. Mink thought as she stared at the woman. _She looks less like an aviator and more like someone outside of the Capitol._

"Well now that I have your attention," Anna said with a grin. "One large pitcher of ice tea."

"And some cans of energy bombs!" Splendor added.

"Ugh..." The server groaned with annoyance. "A pitcher of long island and fun bombs." She said as she write it down on her notepad. "Anything else I can get you all?" She asked eyeing everyone.

"What district are you from?" Anna asked.

"I portray District Two," she answered impatiently. "Why? See something you like?"

"I see things that are wrong," Thor chimed in. "In order to look more like them you have to be stronger."

"And tanner." Terra added with her flat voice.

"And more of a bitch." Mink and the rest of the non-bronholes answered simultaneously.

"It's your first time here isn't it." The server stated with a sigh.

"What gave us away?" Ryan asked with sarcasm. "The way you've never seen us before?" He, Ashton, and some of the others gave out suppressed laughs that almost sounded like some kind of weird snoring sound as the server girl took out a pamphlet and tossed it to Ryan. The leather bound pamphlet landed on Ryan's head before he glared at the server. "What the hell?" He asked.

"Read it," the girl growled. "You might learn something." She then left with a huff.

"Wow, what a grouch." Anna said before she was even out of ear shot.

"I heard that!"

"Forget that," Thor said. "Find out why she's trying to portray my district."

"All right all right." Ryan grumbled as he opened up the pamphlet.

"Hey, I want to read it too." Splendor called out. "Place it on the table!" A chorus of agreements followed before Mink saw Ryan sigh loudly as she slapped the pamphlet onto the table.

"There, I placed it on the table, now all of you can read it! Happy?" He asked with irritation.

"Tis upshide thown." Marsha stated.

"Just shut up and read!" Ryan roughly demanded.

* * *

Lighting up a cigarette with Radiance, Thor, Marsha, Anna, Zora, and Ryan, Nick thought about what the pamphlet he had just read said.

That aviator men and women that worked in this club would try to look like someone from a Panem district. From there, they would serve as a fetish for the aviators that had sexual feelings towards certain tributes that resided in certain districts. But they would only change their looks, and from the evidence he had seen, they might not be switching, as that woman had been nice to the other people that she had been serving before Anna had started annoying her.

 _Fuck._ Nick thought as he inhaled toxic fumes. _Not only are they making it seem as if we're their servants or something, but they're also offering additional services if you're willing to pay the extra coin._ Such services included private dances and sex. _Yeah, because someone from the Capitol would never had a legitimate chance of having sex with a bronhole. All they'd get for their efforts is a black eye, at the minimum._

And if there was one thing on that menu that Nick had found disturbing, it was that there were specials. And apparently, some of the specials that were on it were girls that looked like Radiance, Marsha, and Ashton. While there were boys that looked like Splendor, Carver, and Falco. Nick had no doubt in his mind that there were others that looked like the rest of them. Or at least, tried to look like them due to the pictures of the wannabe tributes looked like more attractive versions of themselves.

Everyone found it sick, and more than a little weird. It even made more than a few of the tributes angry, and for that, Nick couldn't blame them.

"Sick fucks." Ryan said as he pushed the information pamphlet away from him and wrapped an arm around Ashton, who had moved closer to Ryan upon discovering that she was one of the more popular choices.

"You said it." Anna agreed. "I just wish I could burn that out of my mind."

Burn. That word made Nick think about why he was picked for the quarter quell. Pyromania. A desire to burn and having a feeling of arousal that came with it. But that wasn't the only thing that Nick discovered. It brought him relief when he was feeling stressed or anxious. It also didn't help that he was fascinated with the dancing of the flames.

"I can maybe help with that." Nick offered, just wanting to help more than wanting to burn something. Although that itself was a welcoming bonus since he wasn't feeling the need to burn something. Nick then picked up the pamphlet, grabbed his homemade lighter, and rolled the wheel, producing a small flaming tower when the sound of hard plastic crashing and the clinking of glasses occurred in front of them. Everyone looked towards the sound, and saw that the server girl had came back with their two pitchers of desired drinks and seventeen glasses.

"What are you doing you stupid asshole!" She screamed.

"You're improving." Terra said boredly.

"Shut up!" The server snapped at her before she snatched the pamphlet from Nick's hands. "Why would you do that? You know what, never mind, here's your drinks. Now, how are you going to pay?"

"Well I've got this card." Thor told her as he pulled out a thin, rectangular card made out of plastic.

"Place it on the pad." The server explained as she pulled out a device that looked like a blocky calculator. Nick had seen them being made, but he himself never worked on them, and he often did wonder what they were for and how they worked.

Nick decided to look around the club some more to see if he could spot any other kinds of interesting pieces of tech. He spotted a machine that spat out holograms, he saw a place where two people were wearing pure black goggles and wore gloves of the same colour with rubber swords. All three of those things were connected to a machine by thick black cables. It looked like they were playing pretend. And though Nick couldn't see what they were doing, there was only one thought on his mind. _Pixel would love to learn how to make those things tick._

Nick then heard a glass sliding towards him. He looked at it and saw the ice tea that him and the non-bronholes had ordered. He then looked at what the bronholes had ordered, something called energy bombs or something, and saw that their glasses were filled with a light golden liquid that contained bubbles. To Nick, it looked like bubbly ginger tea that he had seen the mayor drink once. The mayor, for some reason, had even allowed him to smell it when he had been recovering from the inferno he had accidentally created. Nick had hated that smell.

"First round's on me my fellow tributes." Thor said to them. "We drink to... I don't know. We busted out of the tribute tower... So..."

"Cheers to saying fuck you to the Capitol in our own way for this quarter quell." Anna interrupted. "We might not go down in infamy like the mockingjays, the snipe, the owl, the duelbeaks, or everyone from the fourth quarter quell, but in our own way, this is our way of being M-jays." Anna then looked at the bronholes. "No offense to you guys."

"None taken." They all said in various tones while Marsha said it in her own way.

"Yeah," Ryan said happily. "To saying fuck you to the Capitol."

"Fuck you Capitol." All the teenagers cried out, not seeming to care who heard them, before Nick let the ice tea hit his mouth. Only to recoil in shock before spitting it out. Nick noticed that the rest of the tributes were spitting out drinks as well, causing the table to become flooded.

"This isn't ice tea!" All the non-bronholes shouted. Nick could taste the alcohol in the drink. And though it tasted like ice tea, everyone had agreed that for their first drink, they wanted something that was luxary in their district. Or at least, something luxurious in the non-bronhole district. And the alcohol was ruining it!

"This isn't an energy bomb!" The bronholes shouted.

"Server girl!" They all shouted.

* * *

He continued to spit the foul taste of out his mouth.

Stream hated the taste of alcohol, and from he could gather, Marsha, Dayta, Paige, Trail, and Ashton also hated it as well as they continued to spit with him.

But it wasn't just the taste that Stream hated, it was the effects that came with it. He had heard that it was supposed to make someone numb and turn bad feelings into good feelings. How it was supposed to calm them down like some sort of sedation drug. How much they had lied as he had seen angry drunk people, and when he had gotten drunk once with Stitch, it made him angry as well.

He had thought that being drunk would help him with his intermittent explosive disorder, even if just temporarily so that he wouldn't be pissed off all the time. He was wrong, and he knew that alcohol would never agree with him.

Rubbing his hands, he could still feeling the ongoing joint pain that came with punching people and objects. Especially when it came to punching walls and the such.

 _Damn it! All I wanted was some ice tea! Instead, it tastes like someone put rust removal in it!_

Stream felt his heart and mind start to race and felt his chest getting heavier as he breathed in and out faster. He could feel himself getting angry, and it was something that he was afraid of. He knew that he couldn't stop a total outburst when it wanted to come, but he could still kind of control himself in the very minor stages. Stream repeatedly hit the couch with his fists and hoped that nobody else would notice. _Not! Now!_

The server girl had came back, and when she asked what the problem was and they all explained it to her, she looked at them like they were stupid. Like they didn't know what they were doing and that they didn't belong in the building. And for the most part, Stream knew that most of them didn't belong in a drinking establishment since they were all under nineteen, the legal drinking age in District Eight. In a much bigger picture, he knew that none of them belong in the building because they weren't Capitol.

Still, he wanted some regular ice tea and he was going to get it.

The server then left with an order of regular ice tea, energy bombs, cigarettes for the smokers, and beers and spirits for the drinkers.

"I don't think she likes us." Anna said.

"What gave that away?" Ryan asked. "The fact that she was pissed when she first laid eyes on us and is getting more and more pissed off whenever she comes here?"

"I think she's just trying to get into character." Mink said. "She's becoming more and more like a bronhole." To which, Stream and the rest of the non-bronholes muttered in agreement.

"Though I'fe fin wounder thing for a thile," Marsha spoke up. "Fly thar you thalling thus that?"

"Bronholes?" Anna asked. "Well, I'm guessing it's the same with all the non-career districts, but we started calling you careers that because you are usually brutish, monstrous, assholes."

"The bron part comes from the words brawn, brutes, and monstrous." Dayta explained. "While the hole part comes from the asshole part. Speaking of which, I've seen in previous games that you bronholes, uh, careers, call us sticks. Why? Why? Why? Why?" Stream found it weird the way that Dayta talked at times, but he was also curious to why they were called sticks.

Some of his siblings thought it was because of the way they looked so thin compared to the bronholes. The rest of his siblings, including himself, thought that it originated from a game where a bronhole picked up a tribute and broke his back after declaring that he'd break him like a stick.

"It's because of the way you die." Splendor answered. "The way your body falls and the way it becomes stiff. It's like a stick."

"Fascinating." Zora told him. "Now, I think everyone wants to know another thing. Like what blade means to you, Thor. Terra seemed to understand it, so it must be a District Two thing, as Splendor got mad at you for it during the interviews."

"Ah, yes." Thor said as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Stream waved his hand around in annoyance, making the smoke cloud disperse away from his face. He hated that smell and it agitated his throat "Blade. It can mean one of two things. One is where you're a rat and tell on someone. But the more universal part of it in District Two is where you draw unwanted attention to yourself, or more commonly, someone else. Especially if it harms them in some way, like reputation, or they don't want get in trouble for it or something among those lines."

"Ohhh." Everyone but Terra and Thor said in understanding.

"Hey, we've got something like that." Spark told them. "It's called being a lightning rod, and being a zap chain."

"Being a lighting rod means that you attract trouble." Anna explained the instant Spark took a pause. "Being a zap chain means you trouble people."

"Speaking of which," Ashton jumped in. "Anna. Spark. During Spark's interviews, you said you were a neon. What's that mean?"

"As you can see around us, neon lights are bright. It's meant to represent our future in the bleak area of District Five because we're rich."

"Wait," Steam jumped in as he slammed his palms onto the wet table. "Damn it." Stream grumbled before he wiped his wet hands on his pants. "Anyway, you're rich? But... You're eyes sockets and stuff. You look like Ryan, but with muscles." Stream was confused. How could someone that was rich look like that? Shouldn't he look healthy at least? Sure he might not be fat, but Stream expected someone rich to look more like Paige than anything else. Healthy and well fed.

Along with better clothes, as Paige was wearing a bright yellow shirt and grey denim pants while Spark wore a dull jacket over a grey shirt and black pants.

"Like I said during the interviews," Spark said sorrowfully. "I wanted to make friends. And I would get bullied and made fun of by the majority of the district. Dims as they're called, because of how dim their future is in District Five. Anna's a dim because she isn't rich. And, well... Because of that bullying, I wanted to lose weight to fit in."

"I know what that's like," Paige told him in a sympathetic tone. "People look at you differently because you have money and don't need to struggle like they do."

"Yeah." Spark agreed. "Dims... People that are poorer than you think that you look down on them. I didn't. I was fat and wanted to fit in." Spark then paused. Sighed heavily, and reached for his jacket sleeve.

"You sure you want to do it, Spark?" Anna asked with genuine concern.

"Yeah." Spark sighed uneasily. "After all, you people are probably going to be some of the only people to hopefully understand." Spark then pulled his jacket sleeve up, and there were several gasps. Stream himself was one of them.

Spark's light brown hooded field jacket looked baggy on him to begin with. But when he revealed his arm, it looked even bigger on him. Spark's arm from his bicep down looked like it had been stripped of muscle. It was bone thin. Spark then moved his hands to his shirt bottom and pulled it up. It received even more gaps, to which, Stream was once again one of them. Spark's stomach looked like it had been slightly sucked in and Stream could see his ribs. "It's not as bad as it used to be." Spark said, which didn't make Stream feel any better.

 _Those oversized clothes._ Stream thought with horror. _They were to cloth over that._

"Folly tuck!" Marsha shouted. "Theat thom thing!"

"I have anorexia you jerk," Spark told her with hostility in both his tone and his eyes. "I don't like eating! And when I do I burn it off by running for miles or doing an excessive number of jumping jacks or something!"

"So that's why you can keep up with me." Anna said with realization.

"Yeah..." Spark said with tears starting to come out of his eyes. Anna placed a hand of comfort on Spark's shoulders, but Spark didn't even seem to notice.

Stream didn't know what to say. Someone that starved themselves to near death, and wouldn't stop? They'd burn up those precious resources that you'd need to survive. Spark had the wealth that most people in his district would kill for, but he hated it. Because it made him an outsider.

Stream curled his fingers in and out of fists, feeling the years of built up frustration in his joints, feeling for Spark. He was an outsider as well. And so was Paige. Because of things that they couldn't do anything about.

"Ryan." Stream heard Ashton say. Stream turned to the District Twelve pair and saw Ashton nudging Ryan gently in the ribs, motioning signals to him. Ryan couldn't seem to get the hint.

"Lift your shirt up, Ryan!" Stream cried out towards Ryan, unable to stand his ignorance.

Ryan rolled his eyes before he lifted the front of his grey, coal dusted, shirt up to reveal his underfed stomach and exposing rib cage. Both of which were accommodated by scars and burns. Stream wondered if things were so bad in District Twelve that something like that was the norm in District Twelve.

"Wow." Stream muttered.

"Christ." Splendor said with mild horror. "Is that for everyone in Twelve?"

"The line is greatly divided between the dime shines and the lamp stamps," Ryan answered.

"Dime shines, also known as the merchant area where I'm from. The rich area." Ashton clarified. "And the lamp stamps, where Ryan's from. The poor area, or The Seam. You can..." Ashton let out a yawn before she continued. "Tell because of our skin and hair colour."

 _Not only that._ Stream thought as he saw the difference of attire they were wearing. Ryan wore a dirty grey shirt streaked with faded coal dust, brown work pants that looked like it could never get probably cleaned, and a tattered brown wax cotton jacket that looked used, abused, and unskillfully stitched and repaired. Ashton on the other hand wore a knee length, off white sleeved dress that was neither tight nor roomy.

"Yeah," Ryan confirmed. "In The Seam, you're basically surviving a few days at a time. Some are surviving day by day." Ryan then pulled his shirt back down. "Long hours of work and malnutrition are common. The expected lifespan in that area is around forty, though many die before that. The merchant area is better off. They still work hard, but they don't have it as rough."

"But she still doesn't look like Paige." Stream interrupted, thinking about how he thought that more rich people would look either like Paige, a bronhole, or somewhat fat. Instead, Ashton looked healthy enough, but she was scrawny and had unfocused eyes and dark bags under her eyes.

"Oh trust me," Ashton said with a wave of her hand. "My friend, Fay, fits the dime shine type better than I do. She's... Um... What's the word?" Ashton said as she searched her mind for the word. "Umm... Fleshy?"

"Fleshy?" Dayta asked with a tone that wondered if she was actually serious.

"First time I've ever heard someone being described as fleshy." Nick said, and all Stream could do was agree.

"What are you oilier streakers? Cannibals?" Terra asked in a monotone voice.

"What? No!" Ashton and Ryan both shouted defensively at the same time.

"Wait... Actually," Ryan said as if he just remembered something. "Back when my mom was a child she heard of a story where her grandfather had to choose which grandchild to kill in order to feed the other grand children."

Stream looked at Ryan in pure bewilderment. Not because of the cannibal part. Well, only partly not. But because of how casually he told it. Stream swore the world came to a halt for a split second before Ryan spoke again. "Relax, there were, was, like two other grand kids or something." That's not the point... Stream thought, trying to imagine the sick act of killing one of your family members to feed the others.

 _Hey, what are we eating tonight? Your brother_. Stream then wondered where that thought came from before he shook his head.

"What's an oilier streaker?" Trail asked. _What the... You get told a story of a family of cannibals and all you got out of that was a question about what Terra called someone from District Twelve?_

"It's used to describe someone from either District Five, or District Twelve, because of how poor and dirty they are with their work."

"What?" Anna screamed out. "I don't get dirty when I work!"

"Neither do I!" Spark chimed in.

"District Five has an oil refinery doesn't it?" Terra asked in a bored tone.

"Yeah but-" Anna began.

"It's dirty work." Terra told her.

Stream was about to say how District Six was the transportation district and how machines were dirty work when he noticed a shadow looming over them. Stream looked up and saw the serving girl looking at them with a strange look. Out of the corners of their eyes, everyone began to notice that the serving girl was back with their orders. And even worse, she was staring at them.

"What?" Splendor, Radiance, Thor, Anna, Zora, and Ryan, asked at the same time.

"All of you look familiar..." The woman said to them. "And I swear, I've heard some of the things you just said somewhere, but I can't figure it out."

"Why is she calm all of a sudden?" Stream heard Trail ask right before Stream saw one of the many TV behind the girl showing, yet another, thing about the upcoming Hunger Games. _Of course she's seen and heard of the words we speak of!_ Stream screamed inside his own head. _We've only been the talk of the Capitol for days! With our faces on TV since the reapings!_

Stream began to panic, wondering what to do if she recognized them. But for now, he needed to stay calm, and he did his best to do so. He knew the others were trying to be calm, so he just needed to follow their lead.

"No!" All of them shouted at the same time. _Balls!_

"We just look familiar because we're dressing and looking like our favorite tributes," Splendor said to her without missing a beat. "And we're just acting like them, you know, to see who might win during the games. You start to think like them, you start to get a feeling of who will survive. You know? I mean if I act like Splendor and do things that he might do, I might start to think of how he might act in the arena, and that'll make me think whether to bet lots of money on him or just a little bit. You know, I might start to change my mind and think that Thor might win because of arguments my friend makes here. And then there's Nick and Carver and-"

"Okay, I get it." The service girl cried out, even though Splendor continued to ramble on regardless. Stream was never so glad to have someone that liked to hear the sound of his own voice. "Great costumes. Now here's your drinks. Beers and spirits for the normal people, and ice tea and energy bombs for the kids. Shut up!" She said before groaning and walking away from Splendor's constant talk.

"Wait! Come back!" Splendor called out. "There's still so much to discuss!" Stream would never know how Splendor managed to make up a lie that long with that much detail in that short amount of time that actually made sense, but he was glad.

"Go away!" The server girl shouted back.

"Man," Splendor laughed. "Did you see the look on her face?"

* * *

Sipping and savoring the sweet flavor of the ice tea, the one without alcohol, Trail watched the intense fight going on between the two slightly drunk tributes. There was constant trash talking, groans, shouts, and between the two titans that were with them, they were making the table shake as their faces were turning red from the massive amount of effort they were putting in to force their opponent to lose.

"I'm going to beat your ass, Blackwell!"

"I'm not gay, so go suck someone else's ass, Houghton!"

"I'll have you sucking my ass when we're done here, Blackwell!"

"I think you're a little too obsessed with ass sucking. It's probably where you get all that shit coming out of your mouth, Houghton!"

"Well at least I'm not the one that's going to get the closed casket at the ugly funeral, Blackwell!"

"Oh yeah! Well that burn you feel in your face, your arms, and through your entire body? That's shame, Houghton!"

"You need to shut up and work harder, Blackwell!"

"You need to shut up and die, Houghton!"

"Pebble!"

"Drab!"

"Clay!"

"Rust!"

"Glass circle!"

"Bronze!"

"Your mother!"

"Your father!"

Trail knew that the bronholes were competitive with each other during The Hunger Games, but he didn't think that a simple arm wrestle would get them so flared up. Honestly, part of the reason he, and the others, found it so funny, was how serious Thor and Splendor were taking their match against each other.

"What did they say to each other?" Trail heard someone ask Radiance and Terra.

"Pebble means insignificant." Terra explained. "Clay means you're weak. Glass circle means your good looking but weak, usually we use that for District One tributes."

"And Drab means ugly." Radiance also explained. "Rust means you're an academy drop out. And bronze means bad."

"Does District Two have an insult for every district?" Falco asked.

"Yeah." Terra told him. "Glass circle for One, tech apes for Three and Six, sea stain for Four, oilier streak for Five and Twelve, Greenback for Seven, Nine, Ten, and Eleven, Clothier for Eight."

"What about your own district?" Anna asked. "Don't you have insults for your own district?"

"Course." Terra answered. "We've got blade, pebble, clay, and jack rabbit."

"Jack rabbit?" Trail asked as he continued to watch the match. "Why is jack rabbit an insult? And do they even have rabbits in District Two?"

"There's no rabbits in Two." Terra answered.

"Forget that," Anna interjected. "Thor calls me a jack rabbit. What does it mean?"

"Its a great insult within the District Two academy." Terra explained. "It means that when they give you something, it has to opposite of the desired effect."

"What?" Anna asked, confused. "That doesn't tell me anything."

"If he wants to tell you, then you'll find out. Thor's the person that should tell you rather than me."

"Why?" Anna asked. Terra didn't say anything and just sipped her beer. "Hey!" Anna shouted. "Answer me!"

"No." Terra said casually and flatly. Anna gave out a growl of frustration before she backed off and a sound of flesh and bone hitting glass occurred. It sent shock waves through the table, rocking cups and bottles about before they steadied themselves.

"Yeah!" Thor screamed out in triumph as he raised his hands up high. "Alpha male! Alpha male!"

"Yeah yeah," Splendor said with defeat, but kindness as well, like he had been defeated by a worthy rival. He also had a smile on his face. "Live it up."

"All right." Thor said in a cocky, but fun way. "Alpha male! Alpha male!"

Trail looked around, and noticed that aviators were looking in their direction, but only to see who was making all the noise before going about their own business again. Trail wondered if this sort of thing was something regular among the club.

Trail thought of how normally he wouldn't be able to be in a place like this. Flashing lights, loud noises, and distractions everywhere. Sensory overload. He managed to survive a meltdown during the chariot parade, something that Anna and Marsha couldn't avoid. He was happy that he didn't have one, but felt sorry for the two girls. Not only that, but they had the same equipment as him. Sunglasses and ear plugs. It stopped him from getting hit by all the lights, all the noise, and helped him not be as distracted. It didn't help him with his thoughts though. But he had been prepared. He had tons of coffee before he left the tribute tower, and that helped his inattentive ADHD somewhat.

He still got distracted and he still spaced out, but not as much as he would have if he hadn't had that huge dose of caffeine. It didn't help his depression though. And though he didn't have regular depression, nor major depression, he had mild depression. It made him feel sour towards himself, but he was never one to completely lose hope.

All that slang that Thor and Terra had remembered, along with the things they learned at the academy, Trail wondered how they could remember it all. Because even with his medication, he still had a tough time retaining everything.

 _Bronholes really are amazing_. Trail thought as Thor dramatically thumped his chest and screamed with victory.

"All right all right you lightning rod," Anna said to Thor with a smirk. "You might be the alpha male, but are you the ruler of us all?" Anna then nodded her head towards Marsha, who had recently won against Zora.

"Trust me," Thor said to Anna with pure confidence. "I've got this. With Blackwell defeated, nothing can stand in my way."

"Don't sneeze." Splendor advised. To which Trail wondered why he even said that.

"Why did you... Never mind. Let's go Marsha, ready to go down?"

"I pherfer fo sit, thanks." Marsha told him.

"Not literally." Thor responded with a roll of his eyes before the two of them grabbed each others hands and set their elbows on the semi-wet table.

"Ready." Spark said. "Set. Arm wrestle." Trail then watched Thor and Marsha try to slam the other's hand onto the table with all their might. And to his surprise, Marsha was rapidly winning. And before he knew it, Thor's hand was being pressed onto the table.

"Gah!" Marsha cried out in triumph and raised her hands into the air. "Gah!"

"Way to lose, alpha male." Anna said playfully with a smirk.

"Whatever," Thor said with a smile of his own, letting Marsha have her victory. "I'm still the alpha of males."

"Why are you acting like this?" Anna asked suddenly.

"Acting like what?" Thor asked suspiciously.

"You're acting, nice. I mean, through the whole entire time we were at the tribute tower, you were more of a jerk than anything else."

"Yeah, now that you say that." Trail said, remembering his chat with Thor when Thor tried to get him into an alliance with him. That is, until Carver intervened. "You have been suspiciously calmer. It's like you've, changed."

"Wait!" Mink cried out. "Is your disorder dissociative identity disorder as well?"

"As well?" Trail asked. "You mean that's what you have Mink?"

"Yeah. Thor is acting like someone else, that's got to be his disorder." Mink rationalized.

"I don't have D.I.D," Thor told them. "And is it so hard for me to be nice the night before our deaths?"

"For you, yes." Anna replied. "After everything you've done, this is suspicious. You don't seem to be pissed off all the time."

"Nobody can be pissed off all the time." Thor countered.

"I have intermittent explosive disorder," Stream countered. "And while I'm not mad all the time, I am about eighty percent of the time. So while I'm not pissed all of the time, I'm pretty damn close. And I don't think you have what I have."

"Damn it, Thor!" Anna shouted. "What do you have?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Thor snarled at Anna.

Trail was beginning to see things become a cloud burst. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were. He was sorry that he ever had any curiosity about why Thor was acting strange. Trail was trying to think of a way to make the cloud burst go away when Zora spoke up.

"It's because he doesn't have a disorder."

Trail turned towards Zora, and he could feel the rest of the tributes turning towards her. Then at the exact same time, nearly every teenager at their table gave out a collective.

"What?"

* * *

An argument broke out between nearly every single tribute at that table as they tried to comprehend what Zora had just mentioned. They were probing Thor for answers, and Thor was refusing to answer them.

"Is it so bad that I don't want to ruin what little happiness we have left?" Thor asked in a growlish tone. And though he was facing Anna, he seemed to be speaking to everyone. "We're all going into the arena tomorrow, and from there, it's a big possibility that all of us will be dead. If you want me to continue to be an asshole, so be it, wait until tomorrow and the Thor you all remember will be back."

"Well I'm more confused about Zora saying that you don't have a disorder." Anna told him.

"What makes you think that I don't?" Thor asked, facing towards Zora.

"I've read the signs," Zora answered. She hadn't noticed at first, thinking that he was a little like her, but then she started to realize that he wasn't. And he didn't seem to be like the rest of them in a way. He was just, different from everyone else. "And I had a feeling, and I didn't know what it was until just recently."

"Well he got reaped, just like the rest of us," Ryan spoke up. "Why would someone that doesn't have a disorder get reaped?"

"I don't know," Zora answered. "Maybe he out grew his disorder?"

"Does it really fucking matter now?" Thor hostilely asked.

"Yes it does." Anna declared. "Do you or do you not have a disorder? Is Zora shitting us or not?"

"Well since you all aren't going to shut up about it," Thor growled. "I don't have a disorder." That was when the group went silent. Zora let out a little smile, thinking of how she had been right. "Not anymore anyway."

Everyone was silent for what seemed to be the longest time. The only things that were making sounds at the table, besides the obvious music and partying going on in the background, was Anna's fingers rapidly tapping the table and Splendor's feet hitting the floor just as quickly.

"You shouldn't be here." Ryan finally said, breaking the silence. "You should have never have gotten reaped."

"Well I'm here now, and there's no turning back." Thor countered.

"You could have backed out of this," Anna said in disbelief. "And yet, why are you here? And you better not fucking say you got reaped."

"I've got business to take care of," Thor explained. "And it's better if none of you know. Now let's just drop this entire damn thing about me not being like the rest of you anymore."

"But this entire time you've just been acting?" Mink asked.

"Not entirely." Thor answered.

"How so?" Anna asked.

"We could ask you the same question," Zora said, thinking about how Anna wasn't as active as usual. "You're awfully calm, not jumping everywhere all the time like Splendor is. I'd say that you're on drugs, but I can see that you aren't."

"Yeah," Spark said with realization. "You've been rather tame, Anna. What's up with that?"

"The jack rabbit's probably like me in more ways than one," Thor offered up an explanation. "You cover up what you really are and just continue to act the way that everyone expects you to act, the way that you think you should act, because that's the only way you know how to act. Otherwise it just feels... Wrong."

"What the..." Anna said with surprise. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"You really want to know?" Thor asked with a wicked grin. One that Zora could see was of someone making a devious plan.

"Yeah," Anna declared readily. "And I also want to know what jack rabbit means."

"Fine," Thor said. "On two conditions. One, everyone here has to enjoy the rest of the night. And second. You have to beat me at drinking, shot for shot."

"You're on!" Anna declared boldly. "Challenge accepted."

"I'm in as well." Splendor announced just as boldly.

"Well you're both going down!" Thor confidently declared.

 **Sinning Temptation Men's Bathroom**

Zora watched as Splendor, Thor, and Anna, puked their guts out into the sinks as she watched them in mild fascination.

They wanted to start the competition as soon as possible, so instead of waiting for the serving girl to come back, they instead stole a bottle of vodka from another table. The three of them then hit the bottle hard before they eventually realized that their bodies had had more than they could handle and they had to retreat to the bathroom in an attempt to rid themselves of alcohol.

All the while, all of them were shit talking each other as they drank. But now, there was nothing but the sound of vomiting.

They looked like they were having fun. They looked happy as they tried to prove their dominance towards each other. In the end, it ended in a three way tie.

"So, what does jack rabbit mean?" Anna weakly asked before another stream of vomit exploded out of her mouth.

"It means that you don't react to amphetamines the way the academy wants you to." Thor explained as he held his head over the sink. "Basically, it's what they call those with ADHD since amphetamines have the opposite effects of-" Thor then spilled out another torrent of vomit into the sink.

"Why does the academy give out amphetamines though?" Splendor asked. "It wasn't something our academy did." Zora was curious as well, that's why she came with them to the bathroom.

"They give it to trouble makers and those that they see great potential in." Thor explained. "Amphetamines make them less fearful and more aggressive. And if used right, they can disrupt your moral compass as well."

"Wait..." Anna said with realization. "So you're saying that you used to have ADH- Blahhh!"

"Sure di- Raahhhach."

"So they wanted to make kids be more like me and Thor then." Zora said, thinking of how it was an effective way to make killer kids by stripping them of compassion, something that Zora had a hard time of comprehending for her entire life.

"More like you?" Splendor asked. "What do you have then?"

"Anti-social personality disorder." Zora answered.

"Really?" All three of them shouted at once before they all vomited at the same time.

"But you don't seem like you have it." Anna told her when she recovered.

"What? Like a unstable murdering psychopath?" Zora asked with some irritation. "Believe it or not, but just because I have that disorder doesn't mean that I actively want to kill people."

But that also didn't mean that she wouldn't want to not murder them all. Zora didn't care about any of them, and she couldn't form meaningful connections with anyone. To her, everyone was already dead, and even if they weren't she couldn't care less. They meant nothing to her.

When she got into the arena, she wouldn't hesitate to kill them, and she wouldn't be swallowed in remorse because of it. It was something that she needed to do, so she'd do it.

That was one of the main things that separated her from her sister. Rowan could form meaningful connections with people, while Zora saw them as things that could walk and talk and do things. Rowan had morals, while Zora had none. There was nothing that Zora wouldn't do.

"So what, are you going to be a Capitol favorite when you're in the arena?" Anna asked. "And we mean nothing to you?"

"I guess." Zora bluntly told her. "I mean, the aviators wanted tributes like me, but instead they got all of you. And while you and Thor are making bonds over being a couple of jack rabbits, I don't make bonds with people."

"That sounds horrible." Anna told her. "How do you live with yourself?" Zora shrugged before she answered again.

"I keep on breathing." _Though for how long I don't know._ She thought as she also started to think of what the medics had told her before. That she had respiratory problems and heart complications because of her drug, alcohol, and tobacco usage. And just like all the other tributes, she had removed the make up that the aviators forced her to wear, along with the make up she normally wore around District Nine. Without that make-up, she looked less feminine, her lips now looked like they were barely there, and the facial scars she had received throughout the years were showing.

"Here's something that I wanted to know," Splendor spoke up. "Do people like you even have feelings?"

Zora felt her teeth being pressed together before she slammed her fist onto the counter, causing the single avox in the bathroom to became startled while his condiments rocked slightly.

"Of course I've got feelings you fucking retard! You hear this? This is anger!" Zora then calmed down a little. "But really," she said with a more sorrowful tone. "I do have other feelings as well." _But in a much toned down sort of way._ She thought, remembering several times when she asked Rowan what she was possibly feeling. Zora couldn't understand what she was feeling unless it was anger, and when she described her feelings to her sister, the only way she could explain them were through different shades of anger. _Slightly less anger, a bad kind of anger, a throat catching anger, anger that's barely there, a dispersing anger that's not really anger._

Those things confused her.

"I understand." Thor told her sympathetically. "Not entirely, but I can understand."

"Didn't ask for your sympathy." Zora told him.

"Wait..." Anna said with realization. "Are you saying that you were kind of like Zora?"

"Yeah." Thor sighed. "No remorse for people or your actions with a disregard for the rights and wrong of society and others? Yeah, I was kind of like Zora."

"And what you said earlier about acting?" Anna asked.

"Because it's the only way I know how to act. Acting, like this, the way I am right now, it's refreshing, but strange. It kind of feels like I'm not really me."

"Which is why I act more hyperactive than I really am." Anna concluded. "And why you act like a dick."

"Precisely." Thor finished.

"Well, I noticed that you three are finished vomiting," Zora said. "Are you all good now?"

"Yeah." The three of them answered.

"By the way, Zora," Anna said as the three of them pushed themselves away from the sink. "You were drinking with us about part way through. Why are you acting perfectly fine?"

"I'm still high on crystal meth." Zora answered readily. "Plus, there's these pills that are offered that apparently dissolve the alcohol within your body."

"Is that even safe?" Anna asked.

"I don't know," Zora bluntly told her. "But the aviators seem to be eating it like candy."

"Huh... Paper money..." Splendor said with fascination.

 **Sinning Temptation Lounge**

There was chanting among them.

Shouts of encouragement by his peers, both drunk and not, but the one that kept him going was the cheering of his best friend, Valor.

 **Aim a little higher.** Loyal advised him as Splendor loaded up another coin between his thumb and index finger before taking aim at his target. Splendor then tossed the coin, and it missed the valleys of the stripper girl's breasts. In fact, the coin missed her breasts entirely. The coin hit her collar bone before it bounced off of her and fell onto the lit up catwalk.

"What the fuck is wrong with you people!" The girl shouted in pure irritation mixed in with some confusion as she continued to be pelted with coins.

"A lot!" Anna replied before she threw another coin at the stripper. It zipped by her, just brushing her scarlet red hair before landing behind her.

Some of the group wanted to go see the strippers walking down the catwalk. Some for the chance to see a naked woman, some just for the hell of it. Splendor for one was one of those people. And unlike the aviators that were watching the show, most of the tributes weren't pervs. And while Splendor guessed that some of the tributes were getting aroused by the girls, they weren't yelling out overly sexual comments. It still didn't stop some of them from calling out comments to some of the girls, calling them hot and the like, but nothing major.

But then again, there were some that were more than just drab. They grotesque. Sure they were thin and maybe curvy, but with what they did to their bodies... Some of the strippers made the tributes turn away with disgust.

Eventually, they they noticed that some aviators would toss the strippers paper money and maybe even slip a piece of paper into their bra, panty, or stockings. That what when someone, Splendor couldn't remember who, got the cleaver idea of tossing coins at the strippers just to see what their reactions would be. Eventually, it turned into a game to see if they could get said coins between their boobs. And while the aviators were shocked and maybe even horrified, the teenagers couldn't care less.

"No shit," the girl, apparently named Flicka, stated in a salty voice. "It's like you people have never been to a place like this before!"

"Weeeellllll..." The teenagers drawled, the coin tossing game halting.

"I knew it!" Flicka announced. "Look," she said as she pointed towards a group of aviators near the catwalk. "You see them? They're throwing us paper money. Paper. Who gave you the brilliant idea of giving us coi-" She suddenly came to a stop when a coin found it's way into her mouth.

"SCORE!" Stream yelled in triumph. It caused the tributes to start congratulating him through their laughs. Splendor swore he saw fireworks appear around the stripper as confetti flew out of her mouth.

 **Now THAT, is awesome!** Valor shouted as he pointed towards the falling paper. Splendor couldn't help but give a hearty laugh.

Unlike him, Valor hadn't aged a day since he had died. He looked like Splendor remembered him, only without the broken open head. Valor still looked fourteen. _But then again, ghosts don't age._

Splendor missed him dearly, wished that he could have been there for him when he really needed his help. But Valor was with him all the time, and he had all the proof he needed.

But unfortunately, Valor was not able to interact with him all the time. Splendor had found that out when he learned he had bipolar type one with psychotic features. The medics had put him on medication, taking away his ability to be with his best friend. They put him on medication to make him not feel euphoric. And when he was euphoric, he felt smarter, like he was able to accomplish great things that people thought were impossible. He was full of energy and extremely optimistic, like he could do anything.

Mania they called it.

And when he wasn't experiencing mania he was either experiencing the opposite of mania. Depression. Splendor hated when he was depressed.

And when he wasn't either of those things, he'd be suffering from combined ADHD and social anxiety disorder. And while they had given him medications to combat them, he wanted to be manic. His family and the medics said that he shouldn't, because not only would it irritate his high blood pressure, but he was at a high risk of doing something stupid and neglect his obligations. And if gone on long enough, he'd slip into psychosis. They had explained to him that if he went manic, it would be like being on a continuous LSD trip with the stimulating effects of cocaine.

Splendor thought that they were stupid and didn't know what they were talking.

The teenager shook his head, trying to rid himself of that thought. One of the ten or twenty that were going through his head before he looked at Flicka berating them for their disrespect. Splendor ignored her as he looked past her and looked at the lights flashing before him.

They were vibrant, they were majestic, and they seemed to have a life of their own. It was beautiful. They were dazzling, like they were putting on a show just for him. The people that were dancing with the lights, Splendor wondered if they could really appreciate what he saw.

Splendor then felt something hit the top of his head, ripping his mind away from the flashing lights.

"And you!" Flicka yelled at him. He swore that he didn't just hear, he felt the annoyance and parent like lecturing in her voice, even though she looked to be around his age. "What do you have to say for yourself."

Splendor didn't know what she was talking about as he hadn't been paying attention, but with a hundred thoughts and through the encouragement of Valor, Splendor did what he thought was right. He pulled out a piece of paper money that he, Thor, Anna, and Zora had taken from the avox in exchange for coins, and slowly, dramatically, with one finger, pushed it into her slightly agape mouth.

"Happy now?" Splendor asked, thinking of how she had wanted paper money given to her.

That was when Splendor heard the voices of his fellow tributes, and his best friend, completely lose it. They started to howl with laughter, and Splendor swore he heard some chairs fall over. He couldn't help but let the intense feeling of laughter overtake him as well.

* * *

They were being ridiculed, criticized, and being told that they were acting immature. The serving girl, who seemed to be the unlucky person that continued to be continuously serving them drinks and the likes, was telling them that not only did they look like children, they were acting like ones as well.

It was something that Nick found increasingly ironic, as the people that she was berating were all younger than nineteen years of age. They were children.

"I swear," she told them in a tone that leaked of disappointment and irritation. "All of you have got to learn to grow up and be mature." _I find that heavily harsh_. Nick thought, as none of them might not be alive for much longer because of people like her wanting them to fight to the death in the arena. Because they had no choice but to be humanoid programs towards the Capitol.

"Oh, you want us to act like adults, huh?" Stream said with malice and something else that Nick couldn't pick up. "Fine." Nick then expected the worst. "Damn damn, double damn. Fuck this fuck that, why are you being such a bitch. I'm so horny that I could just fuck every girl I see." Stream said it with equal amounts of sarcasm and mocking that it didn't even seem like he was actually angry. It surprised Nick, and it seemed to surprise everyone else as well.

Stream then grabbed a cigarette and lit the end of it before he inhaled it's harsh chemicals.

As he blew out the smoke, he began to cough harshly as he continued to speak. "L- Oo- K- Ah- Ah- At- M- Me. I- Hham an ah- Dult." He then continued to cough as he beat his chest with his fist.

"Pussy." Thor laughed jokingly.

All the server girl did was shake her head in dismay.

"So immature." She muttered as she turned and walked away.

"Wow," Mink said as she held up a glass partly filled with a drink Zora had introduced as bourbon whiskey, a commonly made drink in District Nine. "What a bitch."

"I know, right?" Anna agreed. "Telling us we're acting like kids and that we should grow up and mature, like she's got any right."

Looking at his companions, Nick thought of how everyone of them had some physical adult features on them, even those that were fifteen and younger. For example, Dayta looked somewhat like a tired mom in a way, while Spark looked kind of like a worn down dad. Stream had angular facial features, while Falco had some minor pre-mature wrinkles around his eyes and face. Nick guessed that like Mink, Zora, and Marsha, it was because of all the sun exposure he got. And then there was Ashton, who looked worn out as well.

All the tributes this year, except for Stream and Mink, looked to be at least slightly older than they really were.

"Yeah man," Falco pitched in. "I mean, we are kids. We shouldn't have to be worrying about life and death on a daily basis. We shouldn't be ponies to those that ride us. I mean seriously, Splendor, Radiance, Thor, Terra, Marsha, you're all in the maggot farm being raised to kill people. In my mind, that isn't something that kids should be subjected to."

"We shouldn't be ponies?" Splendor asked.

"To those that ride us?" Radiance also asked.

"Thagit flarm?" Marsha also added.

"Oh, right, slang." Falco said in understanding. "Pony means your like a slave or something. Ride means that you're dominated by them, like they're using you or something. And maggot farm means that you're from a bronhole district."

"Why are we called maggot farms though?" Thor asked in confusion. "I mean, the rest of those slangs make sense, but that last one, not really."

"Maggots live off the dead," Falco explained. "And I guess, well, you bronholes live off the dead because you kill those that aren't bronholes."

"Okay, makes sense now."

"And even without the Capitol breathing down our necks and making us their ponies so that they can reap the resources of our district through our hard work and having to worry about whether or not we'll make enough money to survive another week, there's another thing we have to worry about."

"The reapings." Anna answered readily.

"Exactly. We also have to worry about that. I mean, forget about our segregation because of our mental illness and the way people look at us, there's a whole lot of things that these aviators don't understand about our lives." The tributes started to mutter agreements, and Nick himself could see that every word that Falco spoke was true. "I mean, there's a saying that I heard aviators say before. I think it was called a sweet sixteen birthday. And because of this reaping, Stream, Dayta, Harvey, Spark, Ashton, or I, along with numerous other tributes before and after us, won't even experience that."

"Meanwhile, the aviators thrive on our suffering." Thor added. "They celebrate our deaths like it's some kind of honor to die for their beloved game."

"I find that very ironic coming from you." Ryan announced. "You being a bronhole and all. Especially one from District Two."

"Believe it or not, I have no love for the Capitol." Thor replied.

"Is it because of your disorder?" Anna asked.

"I've always had a hatred for authority," Thor answered. "But my hate for the Capitol really began after it disappeared."

"Interesting," Anna said with curiosity. "What happened?"

"It's not something that I'm going to share with you." Thor replied before he took a sip of bourbon.

"Well I'll say one thing for sure," Stream said with a slightly raspy voice, hitting his chest a couple more times. "I'm surprised that any of you lived to be the so called sweet sixteen while inhaling these things." Stream then turned around in his seat and threw it into a neighboring table's pitcher of beer. Nick was surprised that none of the aviators noticed. "Tastes just as horrible as it smells and it's making my head spin." Stream then began to chug his ice tea, Nick guessed it was in attempt to rid the taste of smoke and relieve the dry throat he was probably feeling.

"Oh my God!" Ashton cried out before Nick heard palms slapping the table, causing the items on the table to rattle a little.

"What? What?" Ryan asked with worry.

"I just remembered," Ashton replied as all eyes turned towards her. "I don't need to worry about not being that sweet sixteen."

"Why?" Trail drawled as Ryan looked worried.

"It's my birthday today!" Ashton cried out. "I'm sixteen."

"Well that makes your relationship with Ryan a little less creepy." Terra said in her signature monotone voice before Nick even had a thought of process to the news.

"Well that was a moment ruiner." Radiance dryly stated.

Nick wasn't sure how to react. First, Falco was talking about how he and some of the others weren't going to make it that far in their life, setting up a feeling of melancholy. But then Ashton announced that she had indeed reached that age in which some weren't going to. And then there were the words that Terra and Radiance had spoken with such a tone. Nick wasn't sure what to do.

"Oh my God!" Ryan cried out in a joyful voice. "This calls for tarts! No. Oranges! No, wait. Orange tarts!"

Nick guessed it set the tone right, because he then started to feel like talking again.

"Tarts? Oranges? Really?" Nick asked, thinking of why someone would want to give those types of things to the birthday girl.

"Oh, that sounds lovely!" Ashton squealed. _Guess things you give for a party various between districts._ Nick thought.

"Server girl!" Splendor and Anna yelled out simultaneously.

"I have a name you know!"

* * *

As her fellow tributes were singing to Ashton in various tones and states of drunkenness, Radiance wondered why in the hell they were celebrating anything. _Sure it's her birthday, but it won't matter tomorrow. We'll all be in the arena. And her being sixteen isn't going to change a damn thing. They shouldn't be happy._

After they ordered the single fruit tart and over a dozen oranges, one for each of them on Ryan and Ashton's behalf, the server girl, once again, looked at them like they were crazy. She walked away in bewilderment before returning, and was equally as shocked when Ryan, Ashton, Anna, Spark, Nick, Dayta, Paige, and Stream cried out in joy and wonder before commenting on the oranges and examining them.

The server girl told them that from the way they were acting, it was like they had never seen an orange before. And Radiance guessed that a place as industrial as those district, probably didn't see oranges very often.

And then there was Trail and Zora, who seemed to be experts in the fruit subject as they inspected it and commented them with a purpose. Radiance didn't feel like eating, so she left her orange untouched, much to the dismay of Splendor. He was persistent in that she enjoy the night and the food, but Radiance didn't find anything worth celebrating for.

When the serving girl left them, they started to sing. They sang like they weren't going to be facing their deaths the next morning, and that they were going to have other birthdays to look forward to. Radiance didn't participate in the singing. But when the singing stopped, Radiance, thanks to the pestering of Splendor, raised her glass of brandy and muttered out;

"Yeah. Happy birthday." Before she and everyone else swallowed their drink of choice and slammed their glasses onto the table before they gave out a cheer. Ryan then gave Ashton an affectionate, and somewhat drawn out, kiss on the cheek before Ashton gave out a goofy grin and her face near instantaneously turned red. She obviously liked it, and it promoted some more cheering from the group.

 _They shouldn't be getting together._ Radiance thought as she watched the two tributes. _One of them, but more likely both of them, will die. And where will that romance be after? And if things get really bronze, they'll sacrifice each other in order to live. And even if they don't, the gamemaker won't allow them to leave the arena together. It didn't work for the mockingjays during the third quarter quell, and it didn't work for the duelbeaks during the seventh quarter quell, and it won't work for them. They should just face reality and accept that it won't last. I mean, romance in the arena? How stupid can you get?_

 **You're just jealous that no one could ever love you like that.** The shadowy woman harshly told her.

"Shut up you." Radiance muttered before she emptied a bottle of bourbon into her glass and forced it down her throat.

She then noticed that there was no more alcohol left, and the rest of the tributes were bullshiting with each other, so Radiance tried to slide past Splendor and go to where the first line of alcohol was served.

"Where are you going?" Splendor asked curiously.

"To get more alcohol." Radiance answered, just wanting him to move out of the way.

"We'll call back the girl." Splendor told her.

"No." Radiance told him harshly. "I just want to get out for a little bit."

"I'll come with you." Splendor told her.

"No." Radiance, once again, told him, getting annoyed with him. "I want to be by myself for a little bit."

"Why?" Splendor asked.

 **He's stalling**. The shadowy man told her.

 _He wants to steal more of your joy._ The shadow woman explained.

"It doesn't fucking matter why!" Radiance snapped at him. "Just let me pass you fucking asshole!"

"Look," Splendor said with conviction, his eyes blinking more rapidly than normal with his voice a bit more angry than usual. "I just don't want anything to happen to you. I mean, you've seen some of the shit they're offering here. And you saw that pamphlet and-"

"I can take care of myself." Radiance countered harshly.

"Against all these aviators!" Splendor asked.

Radiance heard the shadowy man and woman's voices become more intense as she became more and more irritated towards Splendor _. Just who the fuck does he think he is?_ Radiance thought through the forming haze in her mind. _Does he think that we'll become romantic partners? Like the doomed Ashton and Ryan? Fuck that! FUCK! THAT!_

Radiance heard her and Splendor saying things to each other, but she couldn't understand them for some reason. She saw their mouths moving, but gibberish seemed to spill from both their mouths. Meanwhile, the shadowy man and woman's voices were fighting for dominance, in her mind and against her and Splendor. They told her to get away from him, and Radiance wanted nothing more than just that.

"-Fine." Splendor finally said to her before he moved out of her way. "Go."

"Gladly." Radiance told him before she unnecessarily shoved her way past him.

 _Fucking Splendor._

* * *

 _Fucking Radiance._

Splendor thought as he flopped back down onto the couch and banged his head on the glass table, shaking everything that was on it. It got the other tributes to look at him.

"That was a pretty heated debate you two had there," he heard Anna say through the, what felt like, thousands of thoughts and rapidly changing emotions he was feeling. "A perfect conductor for a lighting rod and a zap chain if you ask me."

"Well no one asked you." Splendor snapped at her as he raised his head and stared at her. "And what the fuck does conductor mean?"

"It means starting point," Anna explained. "And what was that about? All she wanted to do was get past you."

"I just don't want anything to happen to her while we're here." Splendor explained.

"Yeah. We heard." Nick said.

"And I just want her to enjoy herself," Splendor continued, like Nick hadn't spoken at all. "I just want her to be happy, but I can't even do that." Splendor then slammed his fists onto the table, tipping over empty alcohol bottles and a pitcher that would have contained ice tea if it weren't already empty. "Fuck! I'm the reincarnation of a divine being! And yet, I can't even make Radiance happy!"

"Now that's just crazy talk," Spark told him, much to the agreement of the other tributes and to the annoyance of Splendor. "You aren't God."

"I never said I was God!" Splendor screamed at him. "I'm a stellar being that's been transitioned into a human body! God is of a higher existence than me!"

"So there is a God." Terra said with a tone that might have been interest if it weren't so flat.

"Yes." Splendor confirmed. "And other beings that are beyond mortal comprehension."

"And you're one of them?" Anna asked with extreme skepticism, something that bothered him to no end, but at the same time, he understood her doubt.

"Yes." Splendor answered. "But thanks to this mortal coil that I share with this human piece of flesh and bone, I can't use my powers. I KNOW that I can travel through dimensions. I KNOW that I can fly. I know that I can do a lot of things, but this human body and mind can not accomplish what I should be able to do."

A deafening pause seemed to come over the group before they spoke again.

"And they said that I was delusional." Falco stated.

"I'm not delusional!" Splendor swiftly retaliated.

"What drugs did you take when-" Trail began, but didn't finish as Splendor forcefully interjected.

"I'm not on drugs! I'm not on anything! I'm not delusional! Why don't you believe me! I can do all those things!" Splendor then climbed onto the table, knocking over bottles, cups, and pitches that just happened to be in his path. "Watch this mere mortals!" He declared before, with no hesitation, he jumped off the table. But unlike normal people, he looked like he was trying to glide through the air like a bird. He ended up landing on his chest and stomach, and felt pain radiate through his body. "Damn you humanity!" Splendor angrily cursed before he got up and climbed onto the table again. "FLY!" He demanded before he jumped off the table again, narrowly missing the serving girl, but once again, landing chest first onto the floor. "Fuck!"

"Will you stop that!" She demanded. "You're scaring the other patrons!" Splendor got up and was about to get back onto the table when he felt a hand grab his shoulder. "Stop acting retarded and take these you drunk ass." She briefly showed Splendor a hand full of pills before he swatted them away, causing them to fly through the air.

"I'm not drunk!" He declared. The serving girl groaned loudly.

"Well handle your shit you drugged up bastard."

"I'm not on drugs!"

"Whatever." She said before she started to step around him, only for Splendor to grab her entire tray of beer and spirits and place it on the tribute table. "Hey y-"

"Put it on our bill." Splendor told her before he readily grabbed a bottle alongside Thor, Anna, and Zora.

"Why do I keep on running into you people." She groaned before she walked off, muttering under her breath. Splendor tried not to pay attention to her and his failures as he drank the beer.

"For a second there," Anna said. "I thought you were Thor."

"I'm just beyond frustrated is all." Splendor told her, having emotions bouncing bad and forth and intertwining with each other at a rapid rate. "I know that I can do all the things that I'm supposed to be able to do, but I just... Can't. I mean, if I could make a functioning portal, I could jump through it and be back in District One with my family-"

"I thought you were a skyward being." Terra interrupted.

"I may be a being of higher existence," Splendor explained to her. "But I'm a reincarnation. The humans that gave birth to this body are my parents. At least, they are within the law of this realm. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, if I could make a functioning portal, I'd go see my family, be together with Rarity, and be out of The Hunger Games."

"I heard you mention her name during your reaping and interviews." Ashton said.

"Yeah. She's my girlfriend. Though when I get out of the arena, I want to marry her."

"If you get out." Zora casually commented.

"WHEN, I get out." Splendor countered near instantaneously with anger. But just as swiftly, his features softened. "But that means that the rest of you... I don't need to finish."

"Yeah." They all sighed in sorrow.

It was then that the longest silence of the night between the group occurred.

"We're all just K.F.A.P." Splendor said without thinking.

"We're what?" Mink asked.

"K.F.A.P." Splendor answered. "You know. The letter K, followed by an F, then an A, then a P."

"And what the hell's that supposed to stand for?" Thor asked. "Are you implying that we're all like Ryan and we're all part of the kiddy fuckers anonymous program?"

"What?" Ryan asked with incoming rage.

"What?" Thor asked, facing Ryan. "That's what he's implying."

"It stands for kids facing adult problems." Splendor corrected.

"Well that makes a lot more sense." Thor told him.

"Of course it does," Anna said. "Most people don't understand what we go through. And with the problems we face back in the district, and what we're going to have to face in the arena, I say we're so totally K.F.A.P."

"Who knew that something so perverted would define our situation so well." Nick said with a light laugh.

"You know what?" Thor said as he raised his beer bottle. "I'll drink and toast to that, because after tonight, we'll be facing even more problems. And trust me, in the arena, you'll get the old Thor back."

"Glad to hear," Anna said with a chuckle. "This generator Thor is weird."

"I'm assuming generator means fake, right?" Thor asked.

"Correct you are." Anna answered.

"Yeah," Zora chimed in as she raised her bottle. "Prepare to face the razor grain nature of someone with anti-social personality disorder tomorrow. Razor grain means violent." She quickly added.

"I don't think anyone's going to go easy on anyone." Dayta said as she raised a glass of ice tea. "Because we all want to win win win win."

"Yeah!" Everyone yelled at once.

"So who wants to make a speech we can toast to?" Ashton asked.

"Well I think we should give it to the person that came up with the idea to sneak out of the tribute tower in the first place." Anna told them, before they all looked at Splendor, who just looked at all of them.

 **Their talking about you, my friend.** Valor told him, to which Splendor then remembered that it was indeed his idea.

"I don't know." Splendor started before he raised his bottle again. "To us! And those before us! Damn few! And most of them are going to die a pre-mature death."

"I think it doesn't need that last part." Ashton advised.

"Too late now!" Splendor laughed. "To K.F.A.P!"

"To K.F.A.P!" The tributes shouted before they all downed a mighty gulp of their chosen drink. When that was said and done, they all gave out an exhale of satisfaction. But ahead of him, Splendor noticed that there were several aviators were looking at them with looks of confusion with a dash of horror.

 **Why are they looking at us like that?** Valor asked. Splendor didn't know, but he was going to find out.

"What?" All the tributes at the table asked at the same time.

* * *

 _They are so stupid._

That's what Radiance was thinking as she watched her fellow tributes at the table. They were acting like it wasn't going to be the end of their lives, and it was clear that Splendor had major problems when he jumped off the table twice in a row. Radiance wondered if he'd have done that a second time if he had broke his nose the first time.

Radiance sighed as she continued to sip on the alcohol that was being served to her by the bar keep. The drink that she was trying out, a bubblegum pink drink that a lot of the aviator woman apparently couldn't get enough of, tasted less like bubblegum and more like some other kind of candy than anything else. It made it easy to drink, and that made it very appetizing to Radiance as she sucked it down.

And if there was one thing that kept on annoying her, it was the aviators themselves. They were talking about the games and how great of a disappointment she and the other tributes were because they weren't what they thought they were going to be. Well what did they expect from me? Radiance wondered. _Did they really expect someone with major depression to be some sort of shiny killer?_

Devoid of make-up, it brought out her true features. With her tired looking eyes with dark bags around them, a face with a mixture of anger and sadness, and clothes that looked like they had been slept in for days, she looked nothing like a typical District One female tribute should look like.

Radiance slammed down the empty glass and demanded another drink. Something that was stronger and less of a bitch drink, but something that was easy on the throat. The bar keep gladly obliged and gave her a vibrant green drink that seemed to sparkle.

The teenage girl shoved her free hand into her pockets to pay for the drink when someone spoke out.

"It's on me."

"I don't need your charity." Radiance told him as she pulled out a random amount of coins and put them on the counter.

"Well then, the next one can be on me." He said.

Radiance turned towards the voice, and saw that it was an aviator that appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, but she guessed that he was probably older than that. With light purple skin that greatly complimented his light green tattoos, he also sported a bright mane of blonde with false orange eyes. "I say that that drink suits you. A lovely drink for a lovely girl, and the colour looks almost like your eyes." Radiance didn't know if that sort of crap worked on other girls, but it just annoyed her. She just wanted to drink in relative peace.

"What do you want?" She asked bluntly as she gulped at her drink in a very unladylike fashion.

"I just want to be in your company," he answered with a voice that might have been charming if she were interested. "You see, I've been having trouble with some urges of mine." Radiance knew exactly what he meant, remembering the pamphlet from earlier..

"Fuck off." She told him, just wanting him to leave.

"Playing hard eh," he said with a smile. "You're certainly playing your role well. But what else would I expect from someone playing as a career."

"I'm not one of those establishment sluts." Radiance snapped at him.

"Course not," he said, still looking at her and still smiling. "You probably want to class yourself as something higher. Unlike those other workers that pretend to be from District Twelve or Eleven. But let's cut to the chase, what's your rate for ten minutes?"

"As I already told you," Radiance growled, getting increasingly agitated by the man. "I'm not one of these workers. Second of all, I'm not dressed like a tribute to role play so that I can satisfy your sick fantasies. And third," Radiance then lit a cigarette up. "You're only paying for sex because you know that you wouldn't last even thirty seconds with a real girl."

It seemed to strike a nerve in the guy, and Radiance hoped that it was enough for him to leave.

"Okay," the man said with an edge in his voice. "Just cut the act already. I'm a paying customer, so why don't we get a back room, we fuck each other, and you get paid for pretending to be a sexy Radiance Dricer."

Radiance then got right in his face and growled.

"Go. Away. Last. Warning."

The man then seemed to reach his limit, and Radiance knew that she was reaching her's.

"I told you to cut the act." He demanded, to which Radiance then flicked the barely smoked cigarette into his mouth. The man screamed before he clawed at his mouth and spat.

"And I told you to fucking leave you fucking dumb ass!"

"You fucking bitch!" He shouted before grabbed Radiance's blue shirt and pulled her towards him. "You want to play that role like that so bad we can!"

"Get your fucking hands off me!" Radiance demanded before she striked him in both his kidney and his liver, causing him to release her due to the sudden pain he felt, before Radiance kicked him right in the chest, causing him to back away, nearly falling on his butt as he shakily recovered. "And stay away if you know what's good for you!"

Radiance could see that she had spectators, but she also noticed that they didn't care or probably thought that it was some kind of role play. Either way, she was kind of glad that nobody was going to try and break them up. If that guy continued to pursue her, he'd be very sorry.

"All right." The man said with a cruel laugh and smile as he straightened himself up. "We can play it like that. First I'll dominate a wannabe career in a fight, then I'll dominate her in a private back room."

Radiance had enough on that guy. She was pissed off and wanted nothing more to do with him. She knew what she had to do, and the shadow couple didn't need to encourage her.

"Try." She challenged.

"I'll do more than-"

"SOLAR CRASH!" A very familiar, irritating voice cried out an instant before a set of feet smashed into the man's side, causing him to yell before he, literally, went flying a few feet before crashing and tumbling through a crowd of aviators and finally, onto the floor. The attacker landed on his side as well, but got back to his feet with lighting speed and seemingly practiced ease. "Don't you ever fucking even think of touching her ever again you contemptible bastard!"

"I didn't need your help, Splendor!" Radiance yelled, but he didn't appear to be listening.

"Hey you little shit!" A voice not too far away screamed out. "You think you can just do that to our friend and get away with it?"

"Do you let attempted rapes pass?" Splendor screamed back.

"It's not rape you stupid idiot!"

"It sure as hell didn't seem consented!"

"What the fuck do you know? Never mind! You won't get away with attacking our friend!"

Radiance noticed that there were a group of nearly ten other aviators, and they were closing the distance between her and Splendor. Radiance didn't think that the aviators were good at fighting, but she knew that they could easily just swarm them and beat them down with sheer numbers. She didn't like those odds.

"Splendor, you idiot." Radiance muttered.

"Stay back Radiance," Splendor told her with way too much confidence. "I've got this."

* * *

When he saw the group of men approaching Radiance and Splendor, he and some of the others were ready for action. But when Thor told all of them to stay back, Nick couldn't help but think that he was insane. There were ten grown men, and even though they were aviators, there was only going to be three of them fighting them.

With a smile and a sinister look in his eyes, Thor cracked his knuckles and said to the tributes.

"We'll show these dumb ass aviators what it means to mess with bronholes." Nick couldn't help but notice that he told Marsha to stay behind. It made sense in a way, because even though she won against him in the arm wrestle, he had seen Marsha freak out because she had been simply touched. He guessed that while Marsha was physically strong, she wasn't tough.

"You think they'll be okay?" Dayta asked. "I mean, they might be tough, but do you think Thor's being a little arrogant?"

"Beats me." Nick replied as he watched Thor, unflinchingly walk up to the group of hostile aviators, and without any words or warning, he punched on of them right in the mouth. The aviator's attention was divided between the District One tributes, and Thor.

And with their guard down, Thor managed to get in several more hits before they mentally recovered from Thor's intervention. And while the aviators were cocky at first, they eventually let fear rise within them, because they could have all piled on the tributes and utterly squash them under their combined body weight, but they instead hesitated, afraid of getting hit.

And another thing that Nick found as he watched, was that Thor and Splendor were better fighters than they appeared to be. During training, they didn't seem to be doing that well. During the interviews, when they fought each other, it appeared to be a silly fight. Their training score was, at their peak, a five.

And they appeared to be smarter than Nick would have though. The two of them tried to separate the group from each other. For example, Splendor ran around seemingly oblivious aviators on the dance floor, making them lose each other and separate from one another, and took them out one at a time, while Thor liked to separate them by either knocking some down, tripping them, or making them second guess their actions.

Nick also noticed that while Splendor liked to fight using moves that were somewhat maverick, theatrical, and looked like it belonged in some sort of show the aviators would love. Thor on the other hand fought with simple, brutal moves that required much less technique than Splendor's moves. That, and Thor wasn't yelling out his moves as he made them, but Splendor seemed to be confusing them as he seemed to be calling out the names randomly, even using the same names for different attacks.

At one point during the fight, one of them got the smart idea of trying to get Radiance. It turned out Radiance was now slough in fighting either, as she seemed to use the man's movement and weight against him. The aviator had tried to punch her, instead, Radiance dodged and ducked under his swing, seemed to simultaneously grab his chest and groin, and somehow sent him flying over the bar counter and made him smash into the liquor display. And while Radiance had wobble about a little during her attack, she did way more damage to the aviator than to herself.

 _They had been trained to fight._ Nick thought with a mixture of fear and awe. _They had been made for situations like this. Why we ever thought they weren't a big threat to us because of what we had seen..._

Seeing Splendor, Radiance, and Thor taking their fighting seriously, Nick wondered what Terra, Marsha, and Blue were capable of.

"You... You're all not workers here are you." The man who had attempted to take Radiance said with fear clearly plastered on his face and dripped from his mouth said. "You're the actual tributes."

"Took you long enough." Thor said with a wicked smile on his face.

"Tributes of the two hundredth annual Hunger Games!" A clearly amplified voice cried out. Nick and the others looked towards the source of the voice, and saw a security guard in red holding up a megaphone to his mouth. A device that Nick guessed that they had to use in order to get the attention of someone inside the establishment due to the music and noise. "The peacekeepers are en-route and we have every possible escape route surrounded! Surrender now and the consequences will not be as severe! This is your only warning!"

 _The peacekeepers! Fuck!_ Nick thought, thinking of what it would happen if they got caught by them. The scars on Nick's back tingled harshly.

"What do we do?" Dayta asked in a panic.

"We have to sneak out of course!" Mink told them.

"They said they have all the exits blocked," Falco reminded her. "So I don't think we'll have enough time find another exit besides the obvious ones. The bathrooms aren't an option and the front and back are out of the question."

"Well then we fight our way out!" Zora suggested. "They can't stop all of us! And with all these spirit bottles we can whip up some quick firebombs."

"We are not doing that!" Falco screamed out in horror, and Nick couldn't help but shutter as well. If this place caught on fire... Nick knew what would, and could happen. He had experienced it once before, and didn't want anymore blood on his hands. Even if they were aviators, and he hated what the Capitol was doing to them all, surly they didn't all deserve to to burn.

"Why not?" Zora asked. "They're aviators. What? You telling me you're getting sympathetic towards them? Have you looked around recently? They care nothing for us."

"I'm not going to be the monster you are," Falco replied with conviction. "And I won't be the monster they want me to be. Sure I might kill people in the arena, but I won't unnecessarily murder people."

"The aviator's don't share that sense of morality." Zora told him harshly as she shoved a ripped off piece of table cloth into a bottle of quarter finished bourbon. Zora then used her lighter to lit the piece of table cloth, and Nick, out of sick curiosity, wondered what the resulting flames would provide. He became entranced by the flames.

Zora was about to throw it when Marsha grabbed her wrist with one hand and tore the table cloth out of the bottle with the other.

"Yah nefther fink, though you?" She asked. Marsha then waved the flaming table cloth about until it was out. Nick felt a sense of disappointment, but was glad as well. Damn those flames. Nick thought.

"Well what else can we do?" Ryan asked. "Because I for one do not want to get whipped."

"Maybe we should just surrender?" Spark asked.

"Fuck that." Ryan replied. "We surrender, the peacekeepers will whip us anyway."

"We don't know that." Spark countered.

"We so do!" Ryan rounded.

"Everyone!" Thor's voice shouted before he slammed his palms onto the table, startling everyone. "Splendor and I have been talking, and we've got a plan."

* * *

It was a stupid plan. But it was the best one they had.

It was simple, so not a lot of things could go wrong. But then again, if things didn't go their way, they could end up in a world of shit. _Whatever._ Mink thought. _That's for the future._

"You all ready?" Thor asked.

"Let's just get this over with before we regret this." Mink told him.

"Fine." Thor sighed before he put on his war face before all of them marched towards the front entrance where all the red security guards were waiting like a small army of M-jays. Mink guessed that there were over three dozen of them. All of them armed with tasers and batons. Mink briefly wondered how many guards this place needed, but then remembered all the drugs and alcohol flowing through the place, along with how many people there were inside. _And some of them are still totally oblivious to what was happening around them._ "To the Panem thugs living in luxury because of our suffering!" Thor shouted. "EAT LEAD AND SHRAPNEL!"

That was their cue. Mink then threw everything that she had been carrying. Glasses, silverware, and bottles. Mink swore that some of her fellow tributes were throwing ice and coins and the such before all seventeen of them gave out war cries and utterly charged at the guards in red suits as they made the sounds of explosions and gunfire while they simply pointed their fingers in every direction.

For whatever reason, the guards didn't do anything, they just stared at them in bewilderment as more and more items were being thrown, sound effects were being made, and they all ran past the guards and peeled off. It was so stupid, so ridiculous, that it made the guards question the mental state of the already mentally ill tributes.

When the tributes made it past the final line of Panem goons, she heard Splendor scream out.

"They've all escaped! Run! Run for your lives!" Followed by the mock screaming of fear from the other tributes.

Mink dared to look back, and saw that even when they were more than sixty feet away from the night club, the guards didn't pursue them. Even with them shoving other aviators out of their way and openly escaping, not one of them tried to stop them. They were still trying to process what had just happened.

It wasn't until she was a little over one hundred feet away that she heard one of the guards shout out.

"What are you waiting for? After them!"

She couldn't help but laugh. _I bet future Mink won't ever experience something like this._ Mink thought, because even if she wrote a note for future Mink, explaining what had just happened, she didn't think she'd believe it.

 **A/N: I've been wanting to do this chapter for a long while now, and it didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. Whatever, hope it's still okay.**

 **One of these things is based on one of my real life experiences while on training. Try to guess which one it is.**

 **Also, when we get to the chapter before the arena, or after the first chapter in the arena, I'll go on a hiatus and read some fanfics in another fandom I'm in due to a classic era coming to a close soon. Fanfics of sheer epicness in which one of them is currently over half a million words long while another is over two million words long.**


	29. Chaos Preperations

**President's Office**

In the years past, the Capitol had taken extra precautions when it came to the arena.

They wanted to make sure that it was as escape proof as possible since there had been attempts of escape every so often. And as the years went on, the gamemakers had to find new ways of preventing such a thing, and it wasn't always easy as they always seemed to be one step behind. There was always a new flaw to be found, and if the gamemakers and arena technician didn't find it first, the tributes or the rebels would more than certainly find it and use it to their advantage.

They didn't need to just fear the tributes inside the arena finding a weakness in the arena's fortifications that they could exploit, but they also had to worry about the interference of rebel forces outside the arena. Outside the Capitol and withing the Capitol itself.

Acely had seen many news articles where victors, or people pretending to be them, would use their status to infiltrate their way into the homes of influential Capitol figures. Those figures thought that all they were going to have was a fun time in the sack. What they ended up getting was a brutal interrogation by the peacekeepers after the rebels were finished with them. Real peacekeepers. The ones that had been born and raised in District Two and were subjected to the rigorous peacekeeper training that they were required to pass in order to become a peacekeeper.

Sure there were some Capitol citizens that choose to become peacekeepers for various reasons, many of which were due to them becoming in dept to the Capitol because of reckless spending or some other money related issue, but they weren't true peacekeepers. Not in Acely's point of view. No. The Capitol figures that she had seen become peacekeepers had gone through a different kind of program. A softer training program that taught them basic discipline and minimum survival and gun play techniques, making them, in her opinion, nominal peacekeepers.

She had heard those types of peacekeepers being called hollow and polished clay statues by the true peacekeepers. When she asked one of the peacekeepers what it meant, he told her that the hollow statue part meant that those Capitol citizens completed an incomplete training program, yet, wanted to be place on a pedestal because of what they had to go through. The polished part meant that they still had to regarded as peacekeepers even through how little training and how unskilled they were, and clay was a District Two slang that meant weak. And even though al that, they still wanted to be treated better than those that were within the district. Like they were used to.

Acely felt as if she understood the peacekeepers more than she understood her fellow Capitol citizens due to her role in the Capitol. Because if they wanted to earn something they had to go all the way and not just half-ass it, yet be arrogant about it.

So as President Booker and Head Peacekeeper Of The Armed Forces, Mr. Beo, discussed about the precautions that would be taking place in case of an emergency, Acely listened closely. Because more than likely the tributes or the rebels would try and disrupt the games.

Since the escape attempt during the third quarter quell, it had became standard for the quarter quells to be considered a high risk year for rebellious acts or escape attempts. And for good reason.

During the fourth quarter quell, with the seventy fourth and seventy fifth annual Hunger Games still fresh in their minds, along with the second rebellion, all the tributes decided to rebel against the Capitol by refusing to fight. One by one they were torn apart by mutts until only one remained. The victor offed himself in one last rebellious act that steered people a little, but it wasn't enough for another rebellion to occur. They were still recovering from the scars of defeat and didn't even have to moral to rise up and rebel.

When the fifth quarter quell came around, the tributes that were reaped were between the ages of nineteen and twenty seven. It made the tributes within the arena smarter, stronger, and more mentally grounded than teenagers. But that proved to be a problem when twenty six year old Techa Blassmere from District Three found a way to remove her tracking device, even with the improved upgrades and fail safes that Capitol technicians installed within the devices.

The gamemakers were unable to track her, and it disrupted the games as they tried to stop her from escaping until she meet her end by the District One female.

For the sixth quarter quell, eight times as many tributes were reaped. It pushed the Capitol to the limit, but it promised more bloodshed and a longer game. The audience was pleased, but the gamemakers, escorts, and the president at that time were under constant pressure as they had to look out for one hundred and ninety two teenagers within the Capitol and the arena. And when the games finally came, it was a heavy chore to monitor close to two hundred tributes.

Then one eighteen year old, Sparrow Enrick, from District Ten, got the smart idea of finding every camera he could before bashing them to bits with his mace. Not only that, but he liked to move at night as well and would seemingly dematerialize during daylight hours, making it even more difficult to terminate him. Mutts couldn't stop him, the other tributes couldn't seem to find him, and he seemed immune to all the traps the gamemakers threw at him. He was the bane of the Capitol's existence until he was finally eliminated by a synthetic cyclone that also took out twenty other tributes.

And for the seventh quarter quell, the one where siblings were reaped. Fifteen year old twins, Chrome and Fender Stevens from District Six, made it to the end when the gamemakers told them that only one would be allowed to leave. The two of them, remembering the threat that Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had done a century ago, they, without hesitation and without warning, stabbed each other in the neck.

Fender died in the arena before Chrome was rescued in time to be named the victor. But Chrome killed himself before he even made the train ride back to District Six.

Acely was now wondering what could happen this quarter quell. She didn't know, but it looked like President Booker wasn't taking any chances as he and Mr. Beo were going over plan after plan. Seemingly endless scenario were being played out and discussed, and when there wasn't an absolute solution, they would make plans to minimize the devastation. And to her surprise, the two of them would occasionally ask her for her opinion, and they actually seemed to listen, saying that an outside perspective might give them a fresh outlook on the situation.

Acely was impressed and in awe. Those two men held so much power in their hands, and yet, they seemed to be the ones that were under the most stress with maintaining order. Just like how President Delta was before President Booker.

Looking at the president and the head peacekeeper, Acely noticed that, physically, neither of them seemed to have gotten much sleep. There were dark bags starting to form under their eyes and they seemed to have that sleep deprived look in them and they would occasionally yawn. But they both seemed to be just as mentally sharp as if they just had a full night's rest, disregarding an occasional off trail of words.

While the president and the head peacekeeper weren't able to cover up the physical facial fatigue features, Acely was at least able to cover her's up with minimal make-up.

President Booker's desk was filled with coffee mugs that were both empty and not with stacks of paper on it. All of them, however, were pushed to the side to make room for the spread sheets of paper that he and the head peacekeeper were looking over.

Acely almost felt guilty about getting a full four hours of rest every day, feeling the effects, while the president seemed to be lucky to get two, but he said that if he were to go down, someone in a more complete state of mind would need to handle things in his temporary absence. Acely didn't know if she'd be able to do what he was doing, but she knew that he had a point.

Acely briefly looked at the president's kids, who were playing pretend with their pink tea set, low table, and little chairs. They were quiet, out of the way, and most of all, respectful. Acely couldn't help but let out a little smile. She wondered if she could get her son to grow up like that.

"Mr. President!" A voice shouted an instant after the doors to the office loudly swung open and seemed to crash into the wall, startling Acely, but not Booker and Beo, who Acely noticed, merely looked up from their spreadsheets. _No knock or anything._ Acely thought with disgust as she wiped the startle off her facial features. As she looked up to see who it was. It turned out to be Servius, the head gamemaker. _Figures._ "We've got a problem." Acely heard the president sigh.

"What is it?" He asked like he hadn't rudely barged in without even a warning.

"The tributes have escaped the tribute tower!" Servius answered, to which Acely felt herself gasp. How could they have escaped? She wondered, hoping that her surprise didn't show too much on her face. President Booker, who had remained calm the entire time, simply rolled up some of the spread sheets as head peacekeeper Beo did the same. Booker handed Beo the ones he had rolled up before Beo placed them all under his left arm.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us this year." Peacekeeper Beo stated calmly.

"It appears it does." President Booker replied, equally as calm.

"If you need anything else, peacekeeper Thorn will be of assistance, sir." Peacekeeper Beo told Booker before he snapped to attention and gave him a crisp salute.

"Thank you for your time," Booker replied as he also gave a snappy salute. And though it wasn't required for Acely to do so, she saluted the Head Peacekeeper Of The Armed Forces out of respect, something that baffled the peacekeepers at first as no Capitol citizens besides former and current presidents along with Capitol peacekeepers did. The former out of respect, the latter because they were required to. "Best of luck, sir." All three of them placed their right hands down before Peacekeeper Beo turned on his heels and walked to the office doors. "How many tributes?" Booker asked, flopping into his chair and taking a sip of now lukewarm coffee, staying as calm as possible. Acely did the same, even though she wanted nothing more than to strangle Servius and the escorts.

"Seventeen." Servius answered.

"How did they escape?" _I wonder if it has to do something with alcohol and escorts._

"They apparently disguised themselves and walked out the front door! Because when I questioned the avox security, they said that they thought that it was the escorts and a few of their friends!"

"Please reframe from shouting." Booker stoically told Servius as he took another sip of coffee, his enlarged teeth occasionally scraping the ceramic. "So how long ago was this? Have you alerted the public? Have you sent any peacekeepers to find them?"

"Actually Mr. President," Servius said with a smile on his face. "We got a call from a server girl from a nightclub called The Sinning Temptation, and she told us there were some customers there that looked and talked uncannily like district citizens. Not to mention that there are a few of them that looked underage as well. She sent us a pictures of the group, and it turns out, it's our tributes. I told her to keep them distracted until the peacekeepers arrived for them."

"Excellent." Booker said as he continued to drink his coffee. "I don't see why you needed to come in here though, I was in the middle of a very important discussion with Mr. Beo before you interrupted us." _One that means the security of the arena._ Acely thought _. And one that would have made your job a lot easier._

"Yes, well," Servius said nervously as he cleared his throat. "They... Well... Sort of... Escaped... Again."

Acely felt like face palming, but continued to stand on the side of the president's desk in an almost stony manner.

"Well you better find them soon," Booker said in a way that sounded like a father gently warning his child of future consequences. "The game start at ten in the morning. My suggestion, send out some peacekeepers and have them sweep the area, put out public broadcasts asking the public for assistance, find the direction they headed then track them from there."

"Yes sir. Um... One more thing before I leave?"

"Go ahead." Booker said with a low wave of his hand, gesturing him to continue.

"My fellow gamemakers and the arena techs are wondering why you're so sympathetic towards the tributes."

"What makes you think I'm sympathetic to them?" Booker asked.

"Well for one, you kept us all from drinking alcohol during the training days, and during the private session, and the interviews. In fact, you're keeping everyone that's working on the games from drinking and doing drugs. Not only that, but you're making us study the tributes and making us submit reports to you on why we want to give the tributes our desired scores? What the hell is that about?"

"Ahh, I see." President Booker said in understanding before he stood from his desk, replacing his empty coffee mug with a half filled one. "Why do I not allow you to drink and do drugs on the job? Why do I ask you to submit reports on the tributes and make you research their home life? The answer is really quite simple." Acely wanted to know why he was doing that as well, and listened carefully. "The reason is that I don't want all of you drunk, or high, or both, while you're studying the tributes during the first few days is because as I've seen and heard in recent past, and from the words of President Delta herself, you all focus more on the drinks, foods, and drugs, than on the tributes. You miss out critical information on them that could tell you if they're a fighter or not. If they'll kill themselves after they become a victor or not. While observing the tributes you're too wasted to see their potential. And when the private sessions come, you're too drunk off your butts to even see what the tributes are doing sometimes. Especially those from districts ten and above. I remember hearing about a boy from Twelve that scored a three when he really deserved a seven, or a boy from eleven that got an eight when he deserved a four. There have also been sponsors that have been getting mad at us for not seeing the potential in some tributes and over estimating some of the others."

Booker took a sip of coffee before he continued. "Also, in the arena, you need to be on the look out for what the tributes are doing. You can't concentrate on working on hundreds of cameras when you can't even focus on your hands shaking. Weren't there times where you missed a critical conversation from a team? Or missed a death of a tribute because you were drunk or high on something? Not only that, but this is a quarter quell, so the arena and the tributes need your up most, undivided attention. Rebels and troublesome tributes always find their way to disrupt the games in the most annoying and damaging way during a quarter quell. And if someone like Techa Blassmere or Sparrow Enrick were to appear again, you'd need to be clear headed and prepared."

President Booker then gulped down the rest of his coffee. "If I had my way, I'd ban drugs and alcohol before, during, and after working hours because I don't want my arena surveillance teams hungover when they have to rotate into their shifts. But I knew that you'd all act too childish if I did that."

"Drugs and alcohol are part of our work!" Servius screamed out, seeming to ignore the president's request to keep it quiet, and ignoring the message he was trying to pass up. "We have to stay up for hours watching tributes wander around aimlessly, or talk about pointless shit, or whatever it is that kids do. We have to endure their whiny attitudes and their teenage drama. And we're expected to put on a good show for the public, so we're constantly under pressure. So what if we want some wine or something else to help us get through the day?"

"First off, volume." Booker said in a still stoic voice. "Second, language. Third, Mrs. Vadess is working just as hard, if not harder, than you on a near daily basis and she hasn't done any kinds of narcotics or drank any alcohol during the time since the reapings came, nor has she complained about the lack of those substances once. You on the other hand, your hardest part of the job is to make sure the games go well and the tributes fulfill their roles for less than a month. Outside of that, you occasionally inspect the progress of the building arena and the mutts while ordering those that do the actual building and genetic modification around. Beyond that, you and your gamemakers think up ideas for a new arena and mutts, and you have an entire year to, to simple terms, dream up ideas."

"But-"

"We can always find a new head gamemaker if you don't like following my regulations." Booker said firmly, but not in a threatening kind of way.

"I don't like these new regulations." Servius grumbled.

"You can submit a complaint into the suggestion box attached to Mr. Booker's door," Acely told the head gamemaker in a relaxed tone, not wanting to listen to some self-important, high ranking Capitol figure, complaining anymore. Especially when there were more important things to get done and a better use of time rather than this. She knew that if it were allowed, it might continue on for hours. She knew from experience that it happened more times than she cared for when she was under President Delta. "It will then be read and submitted for review." Along with the rest of the complaints from the other gamemakers and those inside the surveillance room.

Acely then saw Servius glare at her.

"I think you're getting a little too big for those shoes there, Ace Badass." Acely hated that nickname, and she was pressing her teeth down hard to hold back a comeback.

"That's Mrs. Vadess," President Booker reminded him. "You and your gamemakers may have a different kind of work environment, but you will retain a degree of professionalism while you are around us or others."

"Yes, Mr. President, sir." Servius said with the maximum amount of bitterness he could get away with along with a mock salute. "Mrs. Vadess." Neither of them saluted back. Servius then turned and walked out of the office. But before he got out of the door, President Booker spoke again.

"I expect the tributes to be back before they need to be transported."

Servius gave a wave, telling him that he acknowledged the message before he left the office and closed the door behind him. Acely was thankful that he was finally gone, but thought that President Booker was letting him off too easily. That, and she didn't appreciate the sass he had just given. "Mrs. Vadess," Booker said as he gathered all the coffee mugs and placed it on a plastic trey. "Will you please take my children to the mansion? And take the rest of the night off. We're going to have a big day tomorrow."

"What about you Mr. President?" Acely asked.

"I'm just going to take another look at the arena blueprints and the plans of engagement if the tributes or the rebels try to disrupt the game." Booker answered. "If I find anything I'll contact peacekeeper Thorn. So spend some quality time with your boyfriend and your son, I have a feeling that this quarter quell is going to be as hectic as the previous ones, and I know how much family matters."

"Of course, sir. If I may ask, won't the kids want to visit their mother?"

"Visiting hours are closed until the games are finished." Booker answered.

"Visiting? Hours?" Acely asked, wondering what he meant by that.

"Yeah." Booker sighed. "She's staying in a psychiatric care facility."

"Can I ask for what?" Acely asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Dementia." Booker answered somberly.

"I'm sorry, sir." Acely sincerely told him.

"It was the risk I took when I married someone eighteen years my senior." Booker answered with a light chuckle. "Anyway, Mrs. Vadess, enjoy the calm before the storm."

"You as well Mr. President. Come on little ones." Acely said to the kids before they did as they were instructed by their father, and followed her to their nightly retreat.

"Behave yourself for Mrs. Vadess, will you." The president told his kids.

"We will!" The kids said a little too loudly, but neither of the adults minded, as it wasn't in a hostile tone.

Acely took the kids out of the office and closed the door behind her before she let out a sigh. The nickname, Ace Badass, a name she had gotten when she was still a teenager, still irritated her to this day. If you didn't know why she was called that, it would have sounded like a cool nickname, but Acely knew that it was more of an insult than anything else.

To her peers, because she didn't want to sex, drugs, and alcohol, and instead, focused on her future, they called her a uptight and boring. And because she was getting good marks in her school, usually flooring everyone else, they called her Ace. And because they thought that she thought that she was being a badass against them for not following the typical crowd, that earned her the name Badass. It also didn't help that it was close to her real name.

She knew that it was stupid, but it continued to get to her, not stopping when she got out of school and continuing into her twenties and within the work place. And her position of being the secretary of two presidents in a row didn't help any.

And her dedication to her work, it's what drove her son's father away from her. Because she wasn't as spontaneous or, in his own words, fun, enough, for him. Turned out he was seeing someone else on the side, someone that was more his type than Acely was.

She had been devastated at first, but now she didn't even care where he was or what he was doing. She had moved on and found someone else as well. She hoped that her new man would be more faithful. He didn't seem to mind her strenuous work schedules and didn't seem to mind that quiet and homey life that Acely offered when she was off work.

Acely knew that she was going to have to spend some quality time with her boyfriend and her son tonight, because come tomorrow, she wouldn't be seeing them for a long while, because even with the games wrapped up, there was still much to do in the office. And when she would finally get back home, she knew that her bed was going to temporarily be her best friend.

 **A/N: This chapter was surprisingly easy to write.**

 **Which quarter quell rebel was your favorite?**


	30. -Busy To-

**Capitol Streets**

If there was one thing that seemed to draw the attention of the aviators, it was of the two teenagers that were running down the streets, cackling madly. Ashton didn't know if it was because of the way they were acting, or because of the way they looked different from everyone else, but at that moment, she didn't really care. What had just happened had quickly turned from a seemingly caved in situation, to one that was near comical because of how serious it was, but at the same time, they way they got out of it had made her laugh.

It had also made Ryan laugh as well. It was a rough, dry laugh that seemed to border on being scratchy, but Ashton could hear the glee in his voice. It made him sound a little bit younger than he looked.

Looking at each other, Ashton saw Ryan grinning widely, and she knew that she was doing the same. She knew that they should be taking the situation more seriously, but after what Thor had gotten them to do...

Ashton let out another laugh as she remembered throwing empty glasses at the red suited guards while making gunshot and explosion sound effects, and for whatever reason, Ryan had picked up an umbrella stand, that still had umbrellas in it, and threw it at the guards as well. That only seemed to add to the audacity the tributes were trying to showcase. And beyond everything, it had gotten them to escape the nightclub.

The two of them continued to flee the scene, until they both ran out of breath, which didn't take very long, and decided to take a rest. Ashton felt her chest tighten a little as a few beads of sweat made it's way down her face. She breathed heavily and had ran more than she usually did, which made her tired, but when she looked at Ryan and saw what was happening to him, she felt really bad, and worried, for him. Ryan was hacking and coughing, bent over, seeming to be on the verge of going onto his knees.

"Are... You... Okay?" Ashton asked between breaths as she watched him struggling to breathe.

Ryan let out a couple more raspy coughs before he hit himself in the chest a few times and spat out a thick wad of tainted phlegm.

"Ran... Too... Far." He wheezed. Ashton guessed that it was because of a lack of food in his system, along with all the cigarettes that he smoked, and alcohol he had recently consumed. Neither of those things helped his energy levels. Though both of them ate more food than they'd be able to at home, Ashton doubted that a few days worth of Capitol food would be able to make Ryan more healthy. He looked like he had hardly gained any weight during his stay. But then again, she doubted that if he had gained anything, that it would help his stamina levels anyway due to how thin Ryan was.

"Here," Ashton gently said as she guided him to a nearby bench. There wasn't anyone around this area, at least for the moment, so Ashton felt that it was safe to rest there for a moment. "Sit down... Regain... Your breath." Ryan complied, and Ashton sat down next to him, wanting to regain her breath as well.

Ashton let out a deep sigh as the morbid thoughts of the arena came flooding back to her. She knew that the arena was going to be hard, especially for her and Ryan due to them coming from District Twelve. Because of that single fact, they were often considered a cave in tribute. One that sponsors wouldn't even think of unless they did something extraordinary. And while she knew that she wasn't in the best of shape, she knew that there was nothing else to offer as well. She wasn't strong, nor was she fast or smart, or good at fighting or anything else. She was a lamp stamp from District Twelve. She was rich, and though food was never wasted she had enough to survive and didn't have to worry about it too much.

Unlike Ryan, she didn't have a chance. Ryan at least knew how to cope with not having food for days, he knew what it was like to be hungry. He knew what suffering was like since he didn't live in a comfortable home like she did. And judging by the scars Ashton had seen on him, the ones she hoped weren't self inflected, she guessed that Ryan knew how to fight as well. And even though the fight between Ryan and Faclo that one day hadn't been a real fight, it had ended in mutual defeat. Even if that was because of that trainer, Thorn.

Ryan was able to stand up for himself, while Ashton doubted that she'd be able to do anything for herself. Added to the fact that she had hypersomnia, which made her fall asleep at any moment and made her feel tired all the time anyway. She knew that that was a huge disadvantage in the arena, because while she was asleep she was defenseless. And she worried when it would strike again when he was in a bad spot. After all, hypersomnia doesn't care where you were, or what you were doing. She wondered how much more worried she'd be in the arena.

Letting her fingers intertwine with Ryan's, feeling his rough calluses, she wondered if Ryan would even be able to protect her. Sure he was stronger than she was, and was able to fight, but there was people like Thor and Splendor. And even if you didn't count the bronholes, there were figures like... Just about every other tribute, all of who had their own unique abilities. Spark and Anna had great amounts of energy, while Nick, Carver, Falco, and Trail, looked like they were able to break Ryan's ribs if their punches delivered enough force. And Soya. Soya was a big girl. Ashton could just go on and on about the other tributes, but another thing kept on worming itself into her mind.

 _If Ryan had to choose between himself or me, he'd choose himself._ And Ashton wouldn't blame him. If it absolutely had to come to it, she'd choose herself as well, because she wanted to live. She didn't want it to come to that, but if it became like a repeat of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, or the seventh quarter quell, she knew that the gamemakers wouldn't allow two victors in a single game.

Squeezing Ryan's hand, she thought of how it wasn't fair. How she had meet someone, and she had to get ripped apart from him soon after.

Ashton saw an aviator couple walking past them, but she also saw that the boy and girl, teenagers like them, were looking them. Pointing at them, and laughing.

"What the hell's so god damn funny!" Ryan shouted at them.

"How I'm glad that I don't have a face and body like that!" The boy replied with a wide smirk.

"And how I'm not blind and brain damaged like her!" The girl also called out.

"The fuck you just say!" Ryan hostility retaliated as he seemed to jump to his feet, pulling Ashton's hand with his arm.

"Ryan." Ashton gently said as she lightly tugged as his arm. "Let it go. It's not worth it." It made Ryan hesitate, and she could see that he really wanted to harm those two aviator teenagers, but he managed to sit down and not cause a fuss.

The Capitol teenagers laughed again and walked away with arrogance in their voices before they walked on and out of sight. Ashton let out a sigh before it was cut short, and replaced with a gasp as the sound of wood being split ran out into the air right beside her. Ashton looked towards the sound, and saw that Ryan had punched through the thin wood the seat part of the bench was made out of.

"Those mother fuckers." Ryan snarled, his teeth clamped together and grinding. His breathing heavy and rough. His eyes filled with rage.

"Hey, calm down." Ashton told him, not wanting to see him act on his rage.

"Did you not hear what they said?" Ryan asked harshly. "They think they're better because they're aviators. Because they think they look better when they're actually disgusting, unnatural. They called you blind and brain damaged, and I... I just want them to regret their words."

"Yeah? Well so what if they called me that?" Ashton asked. "I'm not going to let a few harsh words stop what was a good mood. If anything, I feel sorry for them. They know of nothing but outside looks. They don't know us. And trust me, I'm angry too, because they called you ugly. But you know what, screw what they said. I accept you for the way you are."

As Ashton looked at Ryan, she knew that not many people would like him just from sight alone. And him having a temper didn't help either. The fact that he had slapped her across the face would drive anyone else away as well. And Ashton knew that she should have strayed away from Ryan Burnout, but she didn't.

If anything, it was because she had found someone that was like her, someone that kind of understood what she was going through. Ryan didn't have many friends, didn't seem to want to talk about them, and was lonely, like her. They both drove away people because they didn't understand them. And for her, Ryan filled an a void that she was afraid would become empty, because she feared Fay leaving her as well. She didn't want it to become empty.

Ryan had accepted her, and hadn't run away from her when she had fallen asleep on him numerous times. Sure he wasn't happy when it happened, but he hadn't accused her of wanting to sleep rather than be with him, he only did that the first time before she explained herself, which most people didn't see.

And while Ashton knew that Ryan wasn't the kindest person ever, she knew that she wouldn't be able to change who he was. So she didn't try. She accepted him along with his flaws, because if she couldn't do that for Ryan, why should she expect him to do the same?

Ryan was heavily flawed, but so was she. They were black outs. "You can feel however you want, and that's okay. Just... Don't let it ruin this. Don't let it ruin the wonderful time we were having."

She then noticed that Ryan's grip was easing off and his expressions seemed to soften.

"I'm sorry." Ryan said in a more relaxed voice that sounded more guilty than anything else. There was still anger in his voice, but not as much as there had been before.

"It's fine." Ashton told him. "You can't help what you're feeling." She thought of what Ryan had told her about his condition, and she wondered how someone could experience emotions like him. How he could live with his views of the world.

They both sat in silence, bathing in the sights of the empty streets of the Capitol. Their hands keeping each other company before Ashton leaned up against Ryan's side.

"I love you, you know." Ryan told her suddenly.

"Yeah." Ashton said with a smile. "I know. I love you as well."

* * *

She made him feel less empty inside.

The lonesomeness that he felt was a little less heavy with her with him. Ryan relished the feeling of another person with him and the physical warmth that it gave him. Especially since they were leaning up towards each other in a loving embrace.

Ryan hoped that she wouldn't leave him, like so many others had before her. He hoped that it would work out for them, even if it was only temporary, because if worst came to worst, he was going to die. If it came between choosing between himself and her, he'd choose her, because as things were going right now, he saw only one reason why he'd want to return to District Twelve. His mom.

That was only one person that he had, while Ashton had a family and friends to go back to. That, by logic, was more people that would miss her more than him. _Besides, it's not like I have much to live for anyway._ That, and the medics don't think that I'm going to live for much longer anyway.

Ryan had accepted the fact that he was dying due to everything he had done in the past. His blood was corrupted from HIV, his lungs were dying, his heart was struggling to survive, his nose was unable to even draw air properly, and his teeth were rotting. All thanks to the numerous drugs, alcohol, and tobacco he had consumed.

His borderline personality disorder didn't help any either, as he experienced intense emotions that could change on a dime. Ryan looked at Ashton, and felt immense guilt on what those emotions did to her. Because when he was angry, he wasn't just angry, he was enraged. When he was sad, he wasn't just sad, he was damn near depressed. He found it ironic that he was first diagnosed with major depression before they changed it to BPD.

His mother had tried to make him understand that his emotions were much stronger than other people's, because Ryan used to think that everyone felt the same way as him. _But then again, there are times where I don't even know what to feel._

And there was his view of the world. The medics called it splitting, where he saw the world in black and white, and while he was able to see the grey, it was very difficult for him to do so.

Ryan didn't know what he had done to deserve Ashton, but he was grateful, and just hoped that she wouldn't leave him. He knew that he was a bad person because of what he had done, but that didn't seem to stop her from loving him. And he enjoyed it. He couldn't remember the last time that he had felt happy. Genuine happiness that wasn't from drugs.

He wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible, since he knew that at any moment, he could get enraged again and the joy would be gone. And really, he knew that it wasn't hard to do so. And he was impulsive, so anger wasn't something that he wanted to become anytime soon.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found it there was something wrong with the thought of leaving Ashton when the time came. Especially since he had a serious fear of people abandoning him.

 _That isn't abandonment_. A part of his mind justified. _That's saving._

"Come on," Ashton said happily as she got off the bench, gently taking his hand with her. "Let's go back to the tribute tower before the peacekeeper find us."

"Yeah." Ryan answered, disappointed that their little quiet, calm moment had ended. But he was glad that they were still holding hands as they walked towards the tribute tower.

They walked the streets, looking at the sights and enjoying each other's company. Ryan did his best to try and avoid the gazes the aviators gave them, but it wasn't easy.

It was going fine until they found that there seemed to be peacekeepers everywhere they went. Not only that, but they were asking the aviators if they had seen them. Ryan became panicky as he thought of the whippings they'd be receiving if they got caught.

"What do we do?" Ashton asked, also fearful of the peacekeepers finding them or some aviator ratting them not. Ryan looked around before he found an alleyway that was between two buildings. Ryan lead Ashton to it, and saw that it had multiple directions they could choose to go, like a maze, so the peacekeepers wouldn't be able to see them if they looked directly down the alley once they took a turn.

"Let's go down here." Ryan said as he pulled Ashton down the alleyway.

"You sure it's safe?" Ashton asked.

"It's the Capitol," Ryan rationalized. "The aviators aren't that tough. And besides, I took paths like this back in District Twelve, we'll be fine."

"All right my alleyway flashlight," Ashton said with a bit more confidence. "Lead the way."

"As you wish my lady." Ryan said as they ran down the alleyway, taking the path that they thought would lead them to the tribute tower, as they could see it, even in the alleyway.

Soon, they lost sight of the street they had been on and thought of it as a shortcut to freedom. Ryan felt like he was back in District Twelve, but in less danger. Not that he really considered the dangers too much anyway.

Turning another corner, the two of them continued down the path. They were about halfway through when Ryan saw four aviators come out from either ends of the alleyways up ahead.

He wasn't worried, but Ashton made him come to a halt and asked that he turn around and that they find an alternate path to follow. Ryan obliged with a slight roll of his eyes, and turned with Ashton to find a new path. _Women._ He thought. But as soon as he turned around, two more aviators appeared in that direction.

 _Fuck._ Ryan thought as he had been on both ends of this sort of situation. An ambush. He still wasn't worried though, because the attacker's were aviators, and he didn't think that they'd be that tough to beat. Though Ashton was squeezing his hand tighter, telling him that she was feeling fearful. Or maybe she thought he was feeling fearful. He didn't really know.

"Looks like someone's a little lost." One of the aviators said as Ryan noticed him pulling something out of his pocket. It was made of steel with a smooth wooden handle on the end. A knife. A big one at that. That was when Ryan knew that they were in trouble, and he could feel Ashton's hands trembling. _I think she's the one feeling fear._

Ryan looked behind him, and saw that the other aviators had a variety of weapons as well. While half were barehanded, Ryan saw that there was a combat knife, a baton, and a set of brass knuckles being flashed about. When they got close and didn't back off, Ryan made his move.

"You better get the fuck out of here before you get hurt!" Ryan shouted at them, thinking of them just as another gang of thugs back in District Twelve.

"We'll give you whatever you want." Ashton told the aviators. "We've got money, we'll give you all we have if you let us pass." Ryan felt his plan deflate instantly and shot Ashton a glare. He wanted to scare away the wannabe thieves, but she was offering them payment. Ryan then shook his head, thinking of how he just wanted them to leave. _If they leave, then so be it. It isn't my money anyway._

"Whatever we want, eh?" One of the aviators behind them said with a laugh that, to Ryan, sounded somewhat malicious.

"What if we want you too little girl?" The aviator in front of Ryan said with a wicked smile. That was enough to set Ryan off. Letting go of Ashton's hand, Ryan grabbed the aviator by the back of the head, pulled it down and towards him, and drove his right knee into his face with all his might. The man howled as Ryan shoved him towards the other man in front of him, causing both of them to fall to the ground.

"Get out of here, Ashton!" Ryan demanded, wanting at least her to get out.

Ryan turned towards the other four aviators, and saw the one with the baton swinging at him. Ryan moved his back away from the swinging weapon, allowing it to hit nothing but air, before he kicked the aviator in the chest, sending him reeling back.

Ryan then heard a scream, and looked back to see that one of the men he had sent to the ground had grabbed Ashton by the ankle, preventing her from escaping as his partner was getting to his feet, still clutching his face and moaning. Ryan saw that there was blood gushing through the man's nose.

Ryan was going to rush those two, when he felt himself getting hit in the back of the head, sending a wave of agony through his skull as he stumbled forwards in a daze.

Ryan turned back towards his attackers, and through the grey and black blurs in his vision, he swung his fists out at anything that looked like an enemy. He was able to connect a couple of solid hit before his vision came back in full. Just in time to see the baton coming down towards his head. Ryan grabbed the man's wrist before he threw him towards the wall. The man's back hitting the brick building before the three other aviators all jumped on him. Literally.

With the weight of three grown me on him, Ryan crashed onto the ground and felt himself being crushed. Still, he fought back, and while he felt weight being removed from his body, he still felt some weight on him. It wasn't enough to stop him from moving, but it did prevent him from escaping.

Ryan then felt himself getting kicked repeatedly. And it hurt. It hurt a lot. And there wasn't a whole lot Ryan could do to defend himself as he seemed to be getting kicked everywhere. Still, he fought back. Little help it did though.

He soon felt warm blood starting to seep through his skin.

But even with everything going on to him, he wondered if Ashton made it out. Ryan looked, and saw that Ashton had indeed, not made it out. In fact, to Ryan's horror, she was struggling against the man had his hands wrapped around her shoulders and chest. She was prying at this arms, but he wasn't budging. She was kicking as well, but none of her attacks connected with her attacker. And even worse, he saw the man with the knife cutting off her dress vertically up.

She was screaming, but Ryan knew that nobody was going to come to help her. Not unless he broke free of the fuckers that were pinning him down and kicking him. _This doesn't hurt._ Ryan thought as anger flowed within his veins _. You've taken worse back home. And Ashton needs you! Get up!_

Ryan continued to struggle, but he felt a kick to the head and everything went dark and a high pitched ringing flooded his ears.

Then life came back to him, and his head hurt like hell as sounds and sights came back. He didn't feel himself being kicked anymore, but that didn't stop him from thinking that he might be. He also tasted iron within his mouth. Blood.

Ryan looked towards Ashton had been, and saw that they were cheering and laughing, commenting on Ashton's looks and what they were going to do to her. The man with the knife had removed Ashton's dress and bra from her body, showing off nearly her entire exposed body.

As they were tugging off her underwear, Ryan tried to push himself up, but a kick to the chest caused him to lose the air within his lungs and the strength he had, causing him to crash back onto the ground.

"Stay the fuck down."

It didn't stop Ryan from fighting though. He couldn't stop fighting, because he couldn't let those men get their way with Ashton.

The man that wasn't holding Ashton slide her underwear down to her ankles with his foot as Ryan saw him put away his knife right before he heard his pants zipper being undone.

"Time to show you what a real man feels like." He said with a shit eating grin that only fueled Ryan's anger.

"Don't touch her you fucking cock fag!" Ryan yelled just as a trashcan hit the man Ryan had his eyes on. The man who had his hands at his crouch fell to the ground along with the trash can. Used waste spilling to the ground and onto the man.

"Real men don't rape woman!" The voice of Falco Naylar bellowed out as he ran towards the man holding Ashton by the face and smashing his head into the brick wall. It caused him to release Ashton as Ryan heard someone give out a weird kind of war cry before he felt weight come off him.

Ryan quickly, but shakily, got to his feet, and looked towards where his four assaulters had been. And there, he saw Anna Leptick engaging them. Ryan, felt nothing but fury towards the aviators in front of him, so he joined Anna by tackling the nearest one.

* * *

When Falco saw the scene in front of him, he knew that he had to act.

Even though him and Ryan weren't on the friendliest of terms because of that fight back in the training center, they had made up to each other. That, and he couldn't just let him get beaten up by a random group of aviators. Not only that, but a worse thing was happening as well. One that made his blood boil so much his entire body felt as if it were white hot.

He saw that one of them had cut Ashton's dress off and was going to rape her. So Falco grabbed the nearest trash can, ran towards the wannabe rapists, and threw it at one of them with all his might. The weight of the trash can and the garbage itself being more than significant enough to knock him off his feet.

He then grabbed the one that held Ashton hostage and smashed the back of his head into the brick wall, causing him to release her. Falco felt the man screaming into his hand before Falco slammed his fist over and over into the man's gut before the man didn't even seem to be able to stand on his own anymore, and even then Falco didn't stop. He wanted to inflect as much pain onto this man and his friends as possible.

When Falco decided that the man finally had enough for the moment, he tossed him to the side and saw that Anna and Ryan had already defeated four other aviators. The man who had been hit by the waste can was getting to his feet. Falco, feeling just as much rage towards him as he did to the man he had just beaten, kicked him right in the face, sending a spray of blood flying from his mouth, before he could fully stand up, causing the man to scream before hitting the ground once again.

"You fucker!" Falco screamed as he grabbed the aviator by the jacket and forced him to his feet. "You fucking!" Falco screamed as he punched him across the face, causing another spray of blood to escape his mouth. "Pedophilic rapist!" Falco hit him across the face again when he heard Ryan shout to him.

"He's mine, Naylar!" Falco looked to Ryan, and saw the fury that ran through his veins as he gripped a trash can lit so tightly that it seemed to be bending in his fist. Ryan looked utterly terrifying with the blood stained teeth and bloody split lips. Falco wished the man no mercy as he tossed him towards Ryan, thinking of how he felt as if it was Ryan's responsibility to punish the man. _After all, Ashton is Ryan's girl._

Ryan then slammed the metal lid on top of the man's head, causing the man to face plant onto the ground. "Not so tough without your backup! Are you fuck face!" Ryan shouted before Ryan got on top of him, rolled him over, and started to beat him in the face, slowly, brutally, with his right fist.

Falco saw the other aviators groaning in torment. He saw that Anna and Ryan had been as merciful as he felt. In addition, Falco had smelt liquor on their breath. They were arrogant, they were drunk, and while he wanted to give them twelve dozen more kicks, he instead went over to Ashton to see how she was doing.

"You all right?" He asked as calmly as he could, even though he was still enraged. Ashton didn't say anything as she silently covered herself back up the best she could with her sliced dress and her cut bra. She didn't look wounded, but Falco guessed that it was more mental than physical.

Falco didn't look at her exposed body as Ashton covered up.

He thought of his sister back in District Ten, how something like this could be happening to her. How he suspected people of wanting to do that to her. Wanting to hurt her in some way, because there were arrogant, sexist people out there that didn't think that highly women. That men were the superior gender. That they could do whatever they wanted to do to their women.

He had seen it around the district. And though he knew that most people were decent, there were still rattle snakes among them. Ones that would strike at the vulnerable and the weak.

His father had told him to look after his sister, because even though she was older than him, it was still a brother's duty to look after his siblings, especially his sister. But even if he hadn't been told that, Falco would want to protect Hilly. Not that he didn't love the rest of his siblings, but he often felt as if Hilly as the most at risk. Because she was a girl, and in Falco's personal opinion, too trusting.

And while he felt worried for other girls he worried more for Hilly. He guessed because she was family rather than friends or strangers. Even so, if he saw something wrong, he'd come flying in without hesitation.

Still, people only seemed to focus on his obsession with keeping his sister safe. Him having persecutory delusional disorder didn't help any either. From then on, everyone knew not to trust Falco and his issues of trust towards anyone that came near his sister. Not just boys, but girls as well.

Falco lost friends because of that. Because they thought that he was too obsessed with his sister. That he wanted to have an inscest relationship with her. Falco always felt sick when someone said that to him.

All he wanted to do was make sure that his sister was safe, but having a delusional disorder made people think he was just that. Delusional.

 _Life sucks when everyone's after your sister._

"You're going to kill him!" Falco heard Ashton shout, ripping him from this thoughts of home.

"He deserves to die!" Ryan shouted. Falco looked back to Ryan and the man he was beating, to see that the man's face was starting to become a mess of blood, bruises, and lacerations. Ryan's hand was also becoming a mess of blood and lacerations as well.

"Ryan. Stop." Ashton begged, but Ryan continued to hit the man, making his knuckles even more torn open and bloody. That is, until Anna grabbed Ryan's wrist.

"Let go!" Ryan demanded as he fought against Anna. "He deserves nothing less!"

Falco could see that Ryan could get loose at any moment, so he ran towards Ryan and grabbed his arm as well.

"Forget it!" Falco shouted to Ryan. "We don't commit senseless murders!"

"This isn't senseless!" Ryan countered. "This is justified! He attacked Ashton and I and tried to rape Ashton! And now you're saying that I should let him go?"

"I'm not saying we let him get away with it," Falco told Ryan, thinking of how he wanted the man to die as well. "But we aren't like them. We're better. For that, we aren't going to have the same sense of murder that they do."

"What makes you think that I'm a good person?" Ryan asked, still trying to hit the man despite being held back by Anna and Falco.

"Well you're certainly better than this guy, that's for sure." Anna said. "And trust me, if you don't let this guy die, I have a punishment that's even worse than killing him."

"Which is?" Ryan asked with morbid curiosity. And truth be told, Falco was wondering the same thing as well.

* * *

Walking back to the tribute tower, Anna was glad that everything worked out the way it did.

Sure Ryan and Falco were still severely pissed off at the aviators, but with what she had came up with, they both still left satisfied. The four of them had used the knife that that one of them men had been carrying, and carved a single word into all of their chests. Rapists.

Anna then told Ryan, Falco, and Ashton that even if they got surgery to erase it, people would be able to see the words on their chests. Because one, the four of them had taken their clothes off of them, placed it in a trash can, and lit a fire within it before tossing their clothes into it, turning them to ash. Second, they'd have to walk through a heavily populated area to get anywhere. With the Hunger Games so close, aviators seemed to be nearly everywhere. And even if just one person saw that word on their chest, word would quickly spread, as Anna knew that the aviators were big gossip spreaders. _They are the biggest lighting rods and zap chains._

"So how'd you find us anyway?" Ashton asked, hugging Ryan's jacket tighter, closing off the window to her chest. The jacket was baggy yet slightly short on Ryan, but it looked massive on Ashton since she was shorter than Ryan. It was also near long enough to almost cover her entire butt as well, so not too much of her was exposed. But still enough that Anna had to pry her eyes away from what little of her butt she could see.

"We... Uhh..." Anna said as she scratched the back of her head. Both from having to avert her gaze, and having to explain how the two District Twelve tributes had been found.

"You." Falco cut in. "You, Anna, got us lost and kept on insisting that you knew the way out."

"I did know the way out." Anna said with a sheepish smile, wanting to not say that she, indeed, did get lost. "We just needed to follow the tribute tower."

"That's the sort of thinking that got us lost in the first place." Falco deadpanned.

"Well we got out eventually." Anna countered.

"No thanks to you Mrs. I don't know where I'm going." Falco rounded playfully.

"Whatever." Anna sighed as she rubbed her elbows.

If there was one thing that Anna felt as if she needed to do, it was keep on moving. She was still somewhat hyper active thanks to her hyperactive/impulsive ADHD, but not as much as she had been when she had been younger. In fact, before Spark and the other tributes at that nightclub, the only person that had known that she was still faking it was Vida.

When Anna had discovered that she wasn't as hyper, or as impulsive, as she used to be, people thought that there was something wrong with her. She thought that there was something wrong with her. She didn't like the way people looked at her, like she was something strange or something. And she felt strange as well. So she reverted back to her old ways, feeling like an asshole at times. But it was something that she was used to, and it felt strange pretending to be something that she used to be, but it was something that people thought she was. Something she thought she was supposed to be.

Vida told her that Anna should start to accept that she was changing, and that the district would have to accept her for that, but Anna was scared of that. She was afraid that people wouldn't take her seriously, so she stayed the way she was. At least she knew what to do when she acted overly hyperactive and overly impulsively. But she knew that it was a lie. All of it was a lie.

Vida had told her that she went to see the medics one day to ask about ADHD, and found out that while the symptoms would more than likely not go away, they would lessen in severity when reaching a certain age. Most likely when they were turning into adults. And true to their word, the symptoms did lessen. And Anna thought she'd be happy when it happened. She was happy and not at the same time.

 _I should have been the adult Vida wanted me to be._ Anna thought as she continued to rub her elbows. _To be the Anna I am, and to leave the old Anna behind, despite how people would look at me and how strange it feels._

Anna thought about District Five and how many opportunities she had denied herself because she wanted to stay in familiar territory. She wondered how much more comfortably her and Vida would be living if she had just accepted herself for the way she was and accepted people's disbelief of her being calmer. _I zap chained myself and Vida._

"Hey, Anna, Falco." Ryan said, causing Anna to stop thinking about what she should have done and bring her back to what she had done. "Thanks. I really mean it. Without you two, Ashton would have been... You know."

"Don't mention it." Anna told him. "Couldn't of just let that happen now could we?"

"I'm just glad we got there in time." Falco added. To which Anna agreed with him. "Though I still think we should have castrated them."

"Oh ho ho ho, agreed." Ryan with a light chuckle. "But you know what would have been even better? Hanging them by their testicles."

"Oh my god, yes." Falco readily agreed.

Soon the tribute tower seemed to be just around the corner. Anna was quite happy to see that they had returned without running into any peacekeepers.

"All right," Anna said gleefully. "We made it. Now all we need to do is go inside and-" She rounded the corner with the three other tributes, only to see a swarm of peacekeepers around the tribute tower. Even worse, a group of them seemed to spot them as they raised their rifles and pointed it right at them. "Fuck." Anna said an instant before she felt something hit her chest. Anna looked down and saw that there was a dart with a green feather sticking into her chest.

Anna pulled it out and examined it. _Is this supposed to be a tranquilizer?_ It made her feel woozy, but at the moment, it didn't seem that bad.

She then tossed it to the side before, without meaning to, spoke again. "You're going to have to do better than-" Two more darts hit her in the chest before she felt herself lean backwards, nearly falling over as she barely managed to balance on one foot. Anna tried to re-balance herself, only to fall forward, blacking out before she hit the ground.

 **A/N: One more chapter (Hopefully) before the arena.**

 **And I swear, Falco will get more development later on.**

 **Also, if the fights seemed too short or something, it's because I didn't want to spend, like, four thosand words on it. The fights in the arena, however, will be more detailed.**


	31. - Watch It Go

**A/N: Suggestive matters in Thor's segment**

* * *

 **Capitol Store**

She knew that this was wrong.

It wasn't just the way that they were going about things, nor was it towards the people they were doing the deed to, but it was the actual deed itself. And though she had seen and heard about it happening to a lot of places back in District Three, Dayta had never been on either side of it. And while she had thought about being on the side that reaped the benefits, she was still scared. After all, before she had gotten reaped, it wasn't something that she had expected to be a part of.

Watching Thor seemingly grab the man behind the counter and dragged him over said counter with seemingly inhuman strength, the remaining two store attendants screamed in fright as they continued to stand and stare. Though Dayta knew that if four random people with white table cloths draped over their heads like masks came bursting into her work office while brandishing weapons, she would have acted just as scared as them. Still, it didn't stop her from wanting the women to stop their annoying, high pitched screaming as it was beginning to hurt her ears. She wished that she had followed Marsha's lead and gotten some ear plugs for herself.

"Anyone else want to be brave?" Thor challenged as he kicked the aviator man in the chest. "Anyone else want to be bold? To try and be a mother fucking hero?" Thor then kicked the man in the chest again, not even looking at the him as he looked at the man's frightened compatriots. "No? Good! Now, amphetamines! Anti-psychotics! Antidepressants and Anti-anxiety medications! Give us those that act almost instantaneous!"

The two covering Capitol attendants weren't moving, just shaking, crying, and staring. It didn't make Thor all that happy, and it made Dayta wonder if they were stalling until the peacekeepers were going to arrive.

A loud bashing onto the counter seemed to reanimate the two Capitol woman as they gave out a shriek and a jump. "I won't ask again! Give them to us unless you want to end up like your comrade here!" Thor threatened before he, once again, gave a hard kick to the man's chest, causing him to give out a loud groan. And if that wasn't enough, before Thor had grabbed him and pulled him over the counter, Thor had hit him in the head hard enough to split open some skin and cause bleeding. The blood that was pouring out of his head looked like diabolic condensation pouring out of his forehead and dripping down his face and mouth.

Dayta thought of what Thor had asked her and the two other girls, and thought of how she had said yes to it.

 _"Do you want to feel normal?" Thor asked. "Or some sense of normal for a little while before we enter the arena?"_

Of course she, and Terra had said yes, though Marsha had declined because she had said she could never be considered normal. Dayta wondered why she'd ever think that, but didn't question her, thinking that Marsha thought of herself as a humanoid program to her disorder.

Still, while Dayta didn't want to feel the effects of her obsessive compulsive personality disorder, she didn't think that going after these people like that was the best way to go about it. Sure she had agreed to come into the store and storm the place, but she didn't expect to be assaulting them in such a matter. Even if she wasn't the one personally doing it.

Dayta felt herself shaking as the two aviators made their way to a back room behind the scenes as Thor and Terra accompanied them, leaving her and Marsha to watch the front of the store and the bleeding man.

She looked at Marsha, who was calmly searching through a tall refrigerator with a stock of colourful beverages. Marsha eventually pulled out a light pink beverage before she twisted off the cap and drank readily.

The man looked at Dayta, seemingly out of hope. Dayta figured that it was because, out of the four of them, she looked to be the least thuggish as she was the smallest robber. That, and while Thor wore a hooded black sweatshirt with denim pants while Terra wore rugged camouflage clothing, she and Marsha looked much less intimidating with their dresses. She wore a bright blue dress while Marsha wore a deep violet dress over some blue denim pants.

Dayta then wondered if it was the best of ideas to team up with the bronholes. She had had her doubts when Thor had came up to her during the third training day and asked her if she'd like to ally with him. Of course, Dayta actually had to think about it, because she had seen Thor just as roughly ask other tributes to join him. She wondered what being in an alliance with him would be like, especially when the bronholes seemed to be so dysfunctional.

Normally, being invited to join the bronholes would make anyone at least think about joining them since it would greatly increase their odds of surviving. But this year, everyone seemed to be a mess, and the bronhole alliance didn't even have an alliance to start with.

Thor had told her that Terra and Marsha had also joined him, but that didn't exactly fill her with confidence since she had barely even seen Terra during the training days, and Marsha didn't seem to be the bronhole type.

Even so, they seemed to be the only alliance going on, if you didn't count the partnership going on between Ryan and Ashton, and Dayta considered an alliance with some of the bronholes would be better than going at it alone. So she joined.

She didn't know that in an attempt to gain forgiveness, Nick would also try to recruit her into an alliance. And when she told him that she was with the Thor, Terra, and Marsha, Nick had wondered why she'd even consider allying with Thor, which she understood. But when she explained to him her reasons, Nick had found many arguments, but he eventually said that it was her decision.

It wasn't that she didn't like Nick, it was just that her best survival strategy was allying with Thor and the others.

Though now she was wondering if it were actually a good idea. _After all, they're warriors that have been trained for this, and I'm just a fifteen year old office manager that oversees the building of electronics within a factory._

She then thought of how they were a team of four, and that her three allies had actually listened to her, which was something that not a lot of people, let alone kids, did willingly. And as Thor had said why Dayta had asked she he had chosen her, he said he needed someone with her skills. _Which was probably why he was trying to employ Anna and Spark at one time._ She then looked over at Marsha, who had finished her drink and was moving on to chugging a second one. _And Marsha's strong. Probably why he was trying to ally with Trail._

No matter how Dayta thought about it, Thor had a plan, and though she didn't know what, she was more confident with her alliance now than she had been before since she saw the fight in the nightclub. Because of Thor was a competent fighter, and so was Terra and Marsha, or so she hoped.

She wondered how this would affect her sponsorship within her district and how they'd think of her. On one hand, there were those that said to win however necessary, and those that were old fashioned and still thought that joining the bronholes made you a traitor to your district, along with everyone in between. _Well as long as I win, either side will be happy. Dayta thought._

It was then at that moment that the District Two tributes returned with the two aviators, both the adults now bound and gagged with cloth and wire. Thor and Terra leaped over the counter before the two of them bound and gagged the man as well before actually wrapping up his head wound.

"Don't say we didn't ever do anything for you." Thor told the man before he tapped him on the head twice with his free hand. "Come on everyone, let's get out of here."

And so, Dayta followed, wondering if she had indeed, made the right choice.

 **Capitol Streets**

Sitting in the empty park, on a hill that overlooked the city, Terra looked at the Capitol and all its glory.

She didn't really think too much of it as she looked at the sky, and while she still wondered if there was something out there guiding her to accomplish a task that was so much bigger than her, she didn't feel the urge to try and search for it. That, and she didn't have that tingling feeling that she sometimes got when she thought about Thor and his plan too closely. She knew that the near instant acting medications had taken effect and wondered why the Capitol didn't give these types of medications to the medics back in District Two.

"How are you feeling?" Thor asked as he drank one of the many fruit drinks that Marsha had decided to take from that store.

"I'm not sure." Terra answered truthfully. Because on one hand, she was having a hard time trusting Thor, but at the same time, the voices of skyward beings, or God, or something of a higher power, were still telling her that she was the second in command of a grand plan. Not only that, but the signs had been there for her to read. They were on the train, they were in the Capitol, and hell, it was why she got reaped. So she followed the voices, and by association, followed Thor. "But I think I belong here." _After all, how many books did you read where some pebble nobody becomes something grand?_

"Good to know." Thor said as he took another gulp of his drink. "It's going to be a hard road, you know that right?"

"Nothing's ever easy." Terra told him, thinking of how her life was anything but easy. Because of what normal people took for granted, she hard a hard time comprehending because of her schizotypal personality disorder.

Her sister, Nova, tried to teach her some of them, but Terra always questioned her, didn't exactly trust her motivations towards those things. They made her nervous and she didn't know what to do, perfecting to be away from people and being by herself, because she didn't understand people and didn't understand what to do around them. And hell, she didn't particularly care about other people, even if she did want to understand them. But then again, she didn't care much about herself either. _After all, how can you care when you can't trust anything or anyone? When you can't understand the world around you? When the only thing that makes sense are the words of those not of this world?_

"True true." Thor said before he lit up a couple of cigarettes in his mouth before passing one to Terra, which she accepted before inhaling the harsh chemicals. She noticed that something was off about them though.

"These taste, different." She commented as she looked at the cancer stick.

"These were manufactured in District Five," Thor explained. "I tried some of the smokes from other districts, and found that I liked the ones Anna had been consuming."

"Do you love her?" Terra asked in her flat toned voice, thinking of those books she had read before and comparing them to Thor and Anna's interactions. She heard Thor start to hack out a lung. "Is that a yes?"

"No." Thor said as he hit his chest a couple of times. "Fuck no. God. She just reminds me of... Me."

"Sounds like a good starting point for love." Terra told him, thinking of how, again, it was something that was repeatedly mentioned in stories.

"What the hell?" Thor asked, bewildered. "How would you even think that?"

"I've read in stories-"

"Fuck stories. They're not real."

"They're made by people, so they must have some relevance to reality." Terra countered.

"Yeah, in a romanticized version of how they wish things would go. Seriously, do you actually follow the plot?"

"I try to read the feelings of the characters." Terra answered as she sucked on the cigarette and blew out a grey cloud from her mouth. "The relationships and how they form, how they mold. How people become attached to others and such."

"Riiiigggghhhhhttttt." Thor drawled. "So I'm guessing you want to be like those characters?"

"Yes." Terra answered, thinking of how she wanted to understand people, understand how they formed their relationships and feelings. How they express it. And all that stuff."

"Yeah," Thor sighed. "Feelings and stuff is troubling."

* * *

Thor knew all too well how troubling relationships and the feelings that came with it were hard to understand and take in. In no small part due to his hyperactive/impulsive ADHD and conduct disorder.

Before, Thor was like Zora, unable to feel empathy towards people and didn't take responsibility for his actions. He was defiant towards people that held any sort of authority and would do what he wanted, when he wanted, not thinking about the consequences and just living in the moment.

But then Thor stopped being impulsive and hyperactive, and he started to not want to be mean to people, nor did he enjoy the rebellious activities that he liked doing before. Thor didn't know what to make of it, and he didn't need to have the medics tell him what he was experiencing.

At fifteen years old, Thor Houghton, lost his ADHD and his conduct disorder. He started to think about who he really was and how the district would treat him if he was completely honest with them. He had an identity crisis and became depressed. He decided to run away from home because of that. Because he didn't know what to do, or how to act. His family treated him the same, and he knew that they were not going to change because he had. If anything, if he told them everything there was to know about him, he knew that they were going to shun him even more than they already had.

And for six months he lived among the the poor, the homeless, and those that had no where else to go. But most of the time, Thor was by himself, thinking about what he was and who he was since he had gotten kicked out of the academy, lost his disorders, discovered his sexuality, and was generally looked down upon within the district.

And then there were other feelings he was having. Things like regret, and compassion. While living among those that the district and the Capitol generally liked to ignore unless something went wrong, Thor found everything so surreal. Stealing, assaulting, being an asshole, things that Thor used to do just suddenly didn't feel like something that he'd want to do that much. And because of that, he grew even more detached to the world for two reasons.

One was because he was no longer the Thor he had been for fifteen years. The second reason being is because it was seen as weakness within the academy. The academy wanted people like him when he still had conduct disorder, but also wanted to be able to control him. _Funny how they want people like Zora and I, but they want us to obey people and, at the same time, not be complete assholes. At least, towards them. Hypocrites._

Still, Thor did what he had to do to survive, learning how to deal with emotions and feelings that were foreign to him. It was like learning to walk again, but without the support you got as a child.

But then he meet someone that would change his whole outlook on life. Forever.

Thor shook his head, making the thought vanish from his mind. But though the thought disappeared the memory of the person didn't.

"For people like us, Terra, District Two is the last place that we should be in with our conditions. Because the academy wants us to dehumanize us, to make us numb towards our feelings and rid us of our moral compass. That's why they give us amphetamines to increase our aggression and brutalize us. They want us to hate. It's why they hate people like you and I. Jack rabbits have the opposite desired effects on amphetamines. We calm down, we concentrate better, we don't become a mindless, aggressive drone that becomes easier to control with their commands as they strip us of morals."

"And they hate people like me because?" Terra asked.

"Because you're not aggressive, and you generally don't care about life." Thor answered, thinking of all the times he had seen the instructors shout and punish students for not being aggressive enough, or when they disobeyed them. "Because they can't control us."

"Well that's a damn shame." A voice said from behind them.

Taken by surprise, Thor and Terra quickly turned behind them and saw five aviators, of which four of them were bigger than the common Capitol citizen, but that's not what made Thor's eyes open widely.

"You!" Thor shouted at the smaller aviator as he sprang to his feet so quickly it looked like he had always been on his feet. He thought he recognized that man's voice, and it made his blood boil. But when he actually laid eyes on him, he became beyond furious. He felt murderous. "You're dea-" It was then that Thor felt the sensation of needles being scrapped across his bones as he couldn't help but shake and fall to the ground. And through all his agony, Thor heard Terra get hit with the same device as he heard electricity crackling.

"The District Two academy should take a lesson from my books." The man said calmly, which only increased Thor's rage towards him. "After all, I can made anybody from the districts submit to me."

Thor tried to give out a retort, but the taser that was zapping him prevented him from doing so. With the feeling of his muscles spazzing out while contracting and losing control of his own body, Thor could only let out a disgruntled heave like sound. "Honestly, I can't believe my luck," The man said with malice in his voice. "I thought I was going to find some nice ass up here, but instead, I find you, Thor Houghton."

Thor looked at the person that created the greatest woe in his life, and saw that he was almost as he remembered him. Orange skin with fiery red hair, bright green eyes and black dog ears, the only thing that changed about him was the fact that he had all his teeth and he didn't look like a pathetic mess.

"Go fuck yourself dick wad." Thor managed to say when the zapping finally ceased, only to feel another wave of crackling lightning to occur, sending him into another seizure like frenzy.

"Well that's just disrespectful." The man said with a smile that made Thor think of a predator. Thor wanted to punch his teeth out again.

"Who is this?" Terra asked in her stony voice that was unnervingly calm. But then again, Terra always sounded like that.

"Allow me to introduce myself young lady," the man said with his wicked smile. "My name is Dimitriy, and I'd like to consider myself a connoisseur of people, specifically district folks such as yourself."

"Didn't know connoisseur was Capitol slang for rapist!" Thor spat out with rage before being electrocuted again. God fucking damn it!

"Now that's just rude," the man said, his smile still remaining, though it wasn't as wide. "I'm no rapist. To be a rapist, one must take while the other unwillingly gives, like a parasite, and I'm no parasite. The ones that give their bodies to me do it for a reason, and they almost always submit."

As soon as the electricity stopped coursing through his body, Thor reached for the wires that had pierced his skin and were still attached to that black box that was still in the hands of one of Dimitriy's goons. But a painful shock got Thor to unwillingly stop. _Fuck them! Fuck them and their arrogant grins and superior attitude! I will fucking end him!_

"And those that don't?" Terra asked.

"Terrible things happen to them my dear." Dimitriy answered. "Because one way or another, I do get what I want."

"And you don't give a damn about what happens to your victims." Thor curtly told him.

"Some deserve the punishment that's given to them." Dimitriy calmly told Thor, to which Thor, once again, felt his teeth being pressed together harshly.

"Bastard!" Thor shouted out before he was meet with another wave of torment through his bones.

"Thor Houghton," Dimitriy said calmly, like a boy wasn't getting tasered repeatedly in front of him. "Do you know why I like to fuck Hunger Games victors and others within the districts?" _I honestly don't give a fuck!_ "It's so that I can show off my dominance towards the districts. To show them that we of the Capitol are the ones on top of the districts. To show them that they are always at our mercy. And the feeling of pleasure and orgasm is a great part of it as well. I mean, young pussy is always the best, but I'm sure you'd know that." _Stop talking you fuck!_

Thor hadn't been holding back much when he had first saw Dimitriy, but him talking like that only sent him over the edge, and there was no holding back. Thor charged at him, only to be meet with more electricity as he fell to the ground again, making him more pissed off as he was helpless and couldn't even deliver vigilante justice. "Now Thor, you're being a very big brat as of right now," Dimitriy said as he undid his belt and the two spare goons were undoing Thor's pants. "And as such, I'm going to need to punish you like how an adult punishes naughty children."

"Go to Hell you fucking faggot!" Thor yelled as he was being pinned down as he felt his pants being tugged down. Thor fought back with all his might, but the constant tasering had brought down his strength significantly. Even with all his anger, he couldn't stop the aviators thug from pulling his pants down, let alone get them off of him.

"This is pay back for what you did to my face nearly three years ago." Dimitriy snarled at Thor before Thor felt something long, hard, and pulsating get shoved up his asshole.

And though it pained him, he didn't scream. He wasn't going to give the rapist the satisfaction of hearing him cry or beg for mercy.

* * *

"We should find them." Dayta advised.

"Thud fee?" Marsha asked through her broken speech. Marsha hated that she spoke like someone that always had a mouthful of wet glue in her mouth, even though she didn't. It made people think that she was something that she wasn't. Retarded. And though she had lost the ability to speak for a while before she had to learn how to speak again, she didn't think that she was retarded. And she sure didn't think that being slow at learning things that weren't interesting to her, or the fact she didn't completely understand people, didn't make her retarded either. Slow perhaps, but not retarded.

"Yeah," Dayta told her in a tone that she recognized as obviously. At least, that's what she thought it was. "They've been missing for quite a while now. I know that Terra likes to be alone and the only person she practically talks to around here is Thor, but I really don't think they're trying to find a place to be alone together."

 _What?_ Marsha thought, confused. _Isn't that what they wanted to do?_

"Fleld they flid flaunt to blee aflown flgether." Marsha told her.

"I mean they went away from us to have sex or something." Dayta explained.

"Thay sad day flaunted flu thalk." Marsha said, thinking of how Terra said that she wanted some alone time, while Thor said that he was going to talk to Terra for a bit.

"No. No. No. No." Dayta said in frustration. "What I mean is- Never mind. Look. Let's just find them, it's getting late, and I for one actually want to go back to the tribute tower before the peacekeepers find us. And I want to get some decent sleep before we get into the arena."

"You thud fof these bed fhat." Marsha commented before she and Dayta went towards the hill that Thor and Terra had said they were going to be at.

They were a fair distance away because Terra said that she wanted some space. And a lot of it for a few minutes. Thor waited a few minutes before he left for Terra, but told Marsha and Dayta to stay where they were for a while as he talked to Terra. They both agreed. Marsha wondered if they were talking about some District Two mumble jumbo or something or other. But then again, she figured that it wasn't any of her business.

As they got closer, they heard strange noises coming from the top of the hill. _Sounds like grunting._ Marsha guessed. _Why would there be grunting there?_

Marsha heard Dayta sigh.

"Sounds like they're having sex. Should have known." And while Marsha noticed that Dayta had stopped in her tracks, she kept on walking up the hill. "Where are you going? Going. Going. Going."

"Up." Marsha answered, wondering why Dayta had asked when that was her destination to begin with.

"The two of them will be seriously pissed off if we interrupt them." Dayta told her. Marsha, however, figured that it was too late as she could already see the tops of their heads, so she continued to walk. _Oh look, they brought friends. Why weren't we invited? Why is Terra on her knees and Thor look like he's kissing the ground?_

"Thew fute." Marsha said as she looked at the seven individuals at the top of the hill, of which five of them she didn't recognize.

"Dimitriy, look, it's the busty retarded girl from Four." One of the men said as he pointed to her. _I'm autistic. Not retarded._ Marsha thought bitterly as she looked at what was happening. She saw taser guns in two the hands of two of the men, of which they had been fired into Thor and Terra, both of whom were on the ground in one position or another. Two other men held down Thor's middle and head towards the ground, while the last man had his pants down. Now that Marsha looked at Thor, she could see that his pants were down as well. _Well fuck._ Marsha thought as she put together the situation.

Marsha quickly put her hand behind her and made a stop gesture to Dayta, hoping that she'd get the message to not come any closer.

"Oh look," the man right behind Thor, the one with his pants to his ankles, commented. "Marsha Trent, one of the few girls that's actually half way bangable this year. Looks like we won't have to hope that she wins this year to fuck her. One of you bring her over here."

One of the men got off of Thor, and the man that remained on Thor had to fight a little harder, but Thor still couldn't escape under his weight, and Marsha wondered if it was because of that taser that Thor couldn't get him off as the man looked light enough to roll off or something.

"All right Marsha," the man said to her with a smile. "Come over to us, and things don't have to get rough."

"Get out of here you stupid retard!" Thor shouted to her. _Didn't I tell you I was autistic?_ Marsha wondered.

"Don't listen to him sweetheart," the man said as he approached her. "Trust me," he then pulled his hands out of his coat pockets, and revealed that his was wielding a pair of brass knuckles. "You don't want to fight us."

"Fut I too." Marsha answered, to which she saw the man's smile disappear instantly.

"If that's the way you want." He sharply told her before he swung a fist towards her gut. The blow struck her right in the gut, and while Marsha felt it, she knew how to absorb it, how to disperse the damage, how to take it. With that, Marsha only took a step back, bent her back forward a little, and exhaled. Marsha then looked at the man again, silently challenging the man to hit her again. She saw the man's eye widen a little before he hit her in the gut again, with the same result. _Huh. This is easier than I thought it'd be. Even with him and his brass knuckles._

The man then swung his fist at Marsha's face, and while Marsha couldn't absorb the damage, she could take a hit and reduce the damage by moving her head and neck to a certain position. And through the burn and slight tang of salty blood, Marsha gave out a brief laugh. _That all you got?_ Marsha thought before she grabbed the man with her left hand, and delivered two solid punches to he man's stomach before striking him across the face. It sent the man to the ground in one swift combo.

Marsha could see that all eyes were on her now.

She guessed that they were surprised that some autistic girl could take hits and be able to down a grown man in three hits. It would have made her parents angry at her to see her do that, because to them, she was always a disappointment that could never do anything right. And when she had sent her brother to the clinic because he had tried to hang her, her parents had told her to never hurt him again or else. They also told her not to take part in the combat classes at the academy either. She guessed that it was because they didn't want Cruise to be seen as weak compared to his disabled sister.

So Marsha endued his beatings, and the beatings of everyone else at the academy. But she still practiced fighting, she knew what to do. And because of all the beat downs that she had to endure, she got plenty of practice on learning how to effectively take and lessen the damage off things that hit her. It made her beyond angry that her parents would treat her like that. That they'd allow Cruise to get away with abusing her. _But then again, you didn't actually know it was abuse until recently._

And because she was an independent wet foot, Marsha got croc from rowing her boat out to sea and lifting up nets worth of fish, lobster traps, buckets of clams, and so on. And when she didn't want to get beaten up, she would run. She learned to run quick and far. That, and swimming required strength and stamina.

And while the life of a wet foot was long, tough, and came with risks, it was repetitive and somewhat reclusive at times. Just the way she liked it.

It also helped that she used Cruise's weight set without permission when she was home alone.

Marsha looked at the rest of her enemies, and wondered how she was going to have to deal with the rest of them.

"Nefh." Marsha challenged as she noticed that Thor and Terra had ripped the barbed part of the taser out of their chest.

"Hey dick weeds!" Thor shouted before he and Terra slammed the end of the taser into their enemy's knees. It caused them to scream, before Marsha noticed that they both clinched their fists up, causing them to shock themselves with their own tasers. _Idiots._ She thought with a laugh. _Anyway, three down._

Marsha then saw Terra, without even standing up, fall onto her butt before she seemed to expertly spin on said butt and deliver a kick to the man behind Thor. The man shouted in agony as he fell to the ground, a slick, wet, sliding noise caught Marsha's attention.

Another noise caught Marsha's attention though, and saw the last man fleeing. Marsha was about to chase him, but that was before she saw the man stumble over his own feet and start to tumble down the hill end over end. Painfully. Sucks to be him. Marsha thought before she turned back to Thor, Terra, and the two other hostiles. One of which included what she thought was a gay rapist.

She watched as Thor pulled his pants up and Terra kicked the man in liver repeatedly with precise aim.

"Stop!" The man yelled, but mostly begged, at them. "You have any idea who you're fucking with?"

"I don't think you know exactly who you're fucking with!" Thor raged out with volume that Marsha had never heard him with. But then again, she had just seen him getting raped in the asshole by another man. Thor then got on the other side of the man and kicked him across the mouth, sending a spray of blood from his mouth, some of which landed on Terra's camouflage trousers. "Do you remember Roxanne? Roxanne Blackburn? No? Maybe this will jog your memory!" Thor then kicked him in the mouth again, sending another spray of blood from his mouth. "The one hundred and ninety seventh annual Hunger Games!" A stomp to the man's chest, causing him to cry and moan weakly.

"Please." He barely managed to whimper, not that it stopped Thor from doing anything.

"You wanted her after you had just finished with Marble Blackburn!" Thor then stamped on the man's face, and Marsha was pretty sure she heard something wet mixed in with something sounding not unlike an apple being crushed. The sound of teeth being ripped from gums. "As if one sister wasn't fucking enough for you, you fucking wanted the other as well!" Thor then kicked the man across the mouth, thick red mist flew from his mouth along with solid white blocks. "You killed them! You killed them both!" Thor then kicked the man's face again, and more blood flew from his mouth.

Thor gave out an animistic growl. "You also killed Stanton Blackburn you fuck!" He shouted before he gave out the strongest kick Marsha had seen him give out yet. "He was only two years old! Two!" Another kick to the face and another spray of blood. "So you know what I'm going to do to you?"

Thor then grabbed the man's right hand and held it in such a way that his wrist was bent towards his arm. Thor set the arm on the ground, and placed one of his heels onto the man's hand, and swiftly placed all his weight onto the wrist, creating a wet and sickening crack. The man gave out a scream of agony. "That's for Stanton!" Thor then did the same brutal method to his other hand. "That's for Marble!"

Thor then reached into the man's mouth, which had now become an overflowing vessel to hold the man's blood, and pulled at something that was long, wide, and caused the man's screaming to be somewhat disorientated. "And this is for Roxanne!" Thor then uppercut the man in the jaw, and it caused him to wail as he bit off his own tongue. "Hope you enjoy being an avox you fuck!"

 _No._ Marsha thought _. He's not going to become an avox. This is the Capitol, and he's an aviator. With surgery he can get his tongue replaced and his hands repaired. And then what will happen to us? Because even if he did attack Thor and Terra first and raped Thor, they know that they can get away with anything. Their so high above us that they're the closest fucking thing to gods we have. It's why we call them aviators, because they're high above us in just about anything._

Marsha felt that what Thor had done was something incredibly stupid to do. That he had made a mud slide for them. But then again, Marsha knew that she had let her anger take over her many times, hence holes in the walls, and she guessed that above everything this man had done to Thor and Terra, he had done things to Thor, Roxanne, Stanton, and Marble, in the past. But among other things, Marsha was wondering why Thor would care for them. _Why does he care so much about Marble Blackburn, the victor of the one hundred and ninety seventh Hunger Games? Had they been friends?_

Thor then got off the man, turned, and walked off. "Let's go." Thor demanded in a weird tone as Marsha noticed liquids coming out of his eyes.

"Do crthing?" Marsha asked.

"Blood got in my eyes." Thor told her. Marsha wanted to say something of comfort, but she didn't know what to say. _After all, what DO you say to someone that got raped. And I don't want to say the wrong thing. Again._ "Where's Dayta?"

Marsha then turned around, to see that Dayta was in the grass, face first. Behind her were a group of peacekeepers pointing guns at them. _Well... Fuck._

 **Gamemaker HQ**

"All missing tributes have been found and captured, Mr. Servius." The voice from the radio crackled, which got Servius to smile which contained joy and relief. But in the back of his mind, he was still incredibly worried.

"Excellent. Load them onto the hovercraft and sedate them for the duration of the flight. And prep them for the arena."

"Yes sir." The voice crackled one last time before the connection was broken.

Head gamemaker Servius let out a sigh of relief and frustration along with some fear. He didn't know what Booker was going to do to him when he heard the news. Sure he had commanded the peacekeepers and the escorts quiet about it, but he was almost certain that Booker would catch wind of it eventually.

Lexus Marks had died of a drug overdose in her room as Fulvia drank herself stupid. A tribute had died before she had even entered the arena, and Servius was certain that there would be reprecutions for that. But maybe if he played his cards right, he could shift the blame from himself to one of the peacekeepers that were sedating the tributes. Tell Booker that they had put too much sedative into Lexus and didn't notice during the flight to the arena. He wasn't sure Booker would believe him, but he had to try. His life was at stake.

And then there was the fact that a Capitol citizen had been brutally mutilated by Thor Houghton. With both his wrists broken along with several fingers, around half his teeth missing from his mouth, a fractured jaw, ruined face, and suggestive internal bleeding, Servius wondered how it was going to affect him.

There was also the more minor problem of Splendor scratching in words onto a shop's window, all of them somehow starting with the letter J, but that was an easy enough fix. As was the somewhat minor injuries the tributes had given out at The Sinning Temptation. He was just grateful that Nick hadn't tried to burn a building down or something to add to his troubles.

Still, the tributes had been a thorn in his ass their entire stay, and because Booker felt sympathetic towards them, he was letting them get away with things while making the job of a gamemaker harder than it needed to be. _When I became head gamemaker, I expected to be reaping the benefits, not getting extra work._

He was going to make the tributes pay. Because if he had to suffer, he'd make them suffer ten fold.

Servius sent out a betting sheet for the potential sponsors, letting them see the odds and the basic information about the tributes. _I hope you've enjoyed your little act of rebellion._ Servius thought. _Because I'm going to make sure that you all pay for everything we had to go through because of you._

 **Eighth Quarter Quell Contestants:**

 **D1 Male: Splendor Blackwell -18 - Bipolar type 1 with psychotic features - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:22**

 **D1 Female: Radiance Dricer -17 - Major depression with psychotic feature - Score: 1 - Odds: 1:52**

 **D2 Male: Thor Houghton -18 - Conduct disorder - Score: 5 - Odds: 1:10**

 **D2 Female: Terra Whitcomb -18 - Schizotypal Personality Disorder - Score: 3 - Odds: 1:40**

 **D3 Male: Nick Sirga -16 - Pyromania - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:18**

 **D3 Female: Dayta Casteel -15 - Obsessive–compulsive personality disorder - Score: 5 - Odds: 1:2** **4**

 **D4 Male: Blue Villegas -17 - Paranoid personality disorder - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:3** **1**

 **D4 Female: Marsha Trent -18 - Autism - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:4** **2**

 **D5 Male: Spark Gambel -15 - Anorexia - Score: 4 - Odds: 1:25**

 **D5 Female: Anna Leptick -18 - Hyperactive/Impulsive ADHD - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:25**

 **D6 Male: Diesel Tarbeck -17 - Schizophrenia - Score: 1 - Odds: 1:55**

 **D6 Female: Lexus Marks -16 - Generalized Anxity Disorder - Score: 1 - Odds: 1:** **60**

 **D7 Male: Carver Greene -18 - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - Score: 8 - Odds: 1:5**

 **D7 Female: Ivy Marlowe -16 - Insomnia - Score: 4 - Odds: 1:20**

 **D8 Male: Stream Outgo -14 - Intermittent Explosive Disorder - Score: 3 - Odds: 1:35**

 **D8 Female: Paige Ingram -18 - Kleptomania - Score: 3 - Odds: 1:30**

 **D9 Male: Harvey Salvador -15 - Nightmare Disorder - Score: 3 - Odds: 1:30**

 **D9 Female: Zora Bitseed -18 - Anti-Social Personality Disorder - Score: 7 - Odds: 1:10**

 **D10 Male: Falco Naylar -15 - Persecutory Delusional Disorder - Score: 6 - Odds: 1:20**

 **D10 Female: Mink Prather -17 - Dissociative Identity Disorder - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:35**

 **D11 Male: Trail Calloway -16 - Inattentive ADHD - Score: 5 - Odds: 1:25**

 **D11 Female: Soya Boykin -17 - Dissociative Fugue - Score: 3 - Odds: 1:35**

 **D12 Male: Ryan Burnout -18 - Borderline Personality Disorder - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:50**

 **D12 Female: Ashton Meeker -15 - Hypersomnia - Score: 2 - Odds: 1:50**

* * *

 **A/N: Practically put somewhat random odds down.**

 **Anyway, this chapter could never seem to go right, so I eventually said, screw this, I'm just going to do this** **and do what feels the most right** **. Also, I hope that the tributes aren't becoming too cliche.**

 **Dayta's disorder kept fluctuating between OCD and OCPD, eventually, this chapter, I told myself that enough was enough and to pick one of them, so I did.**

 **For all of you wondering if what happened to Thor was necessary, I say maybe not, but I have things planned that will come into play that involves that scene.** **Also, I'd make it more detailed, but I didn't want this chapter to be, like, too unnecessarily long.**

 **Just a word of warning for the future, I seldomly put warnings on anything, so if something offends you in the future and you think it needs a warning, tell me.**

 **So this is the last chapter before the arena. Hooray! It only took about two freaking years to do so. But then again, if I hadn't done The Price We Pay, I'm guessing this fic would be near one hundred thousand words longer by now.**

 **But anyhow, here's some questions:**

 **1) Who do you want to be the victor?**

 **2) Who do you think's going to be the victor?**

 **3) Early deaths?**

 **4) Which tribute(s) would you want as a friend?**

 **5) Which tribute(s) would you not want as a friend?**

 **Also, HogwartsDreamer113, you got the most correct guesses for the illness, so you get a prize. You can give a sponsor gift to a tribute of your choice, or you can choose a weapon that will appear later on in the game.** **PM me when you got something.**

 **Runner ups include CelticGames4 for second place, and StellaSlomp for third.**


	32. Welcome To Hell

He felt tired, and felt as if his head was going to split open.

His eyes felt heavy, like they didn't want to open while he had a headache that reminded him of merciless hangovers. Moving his head slightly and groaning, Ryan Burnout wondered how he had came into such a position of pain with him laying on the ground. _Can't remember a thing. Did we ever make it back to the tribute tower?_ He moved his fingers across the ground until they reached his head. Sighing, he tried to recollect his memories of what happened. _Don't remember going through the doors. Did I drink more than I thought? Hmm..._

Ryan forced his eyes open, and they slowly opened up, revealing the world in a blurred fashion. He slowly blinked a couple of times as the world became more clear with each blink of his eyes. He saw that it was dark out. Probably dawn or dusk or some where close to that.

From there he saw lights, much like how they had been in the Capitol. Except that they didn't seem to have the over the top flare that the Capitol seemed to love. The lights that populated the streets and stands that were around him seemed more plain and simple. He knew that it wasn't District Twelve, not unless he was in the dime shine part of the district, but he somehow doubted it. _How would I even know what the dime shine part looks like? For all I know, they could be using candles and paraffin lamps like us lamp stamps._

Letting out another light groan, Ryan pulled himself up until he was sitting on his butt, still holding his head with one hand and stretching out his other. He looked at the stands, wondering if he really was in District Twelve and he had just had an unusually long and vivid nightmare due to a drug trip or something.

The scenery looked organized, like they had been placed there with a purpose. Looking at the one to his immediate left, he noticed a stand that seemed to have a row of stuffed animals on display. Above said stuffed animals was a sign advertising that they were prizes to be won. Ryan looked to his right, and saw another stand that held balloons in various shapes and colours for sale. _Is this supposed to be some sort of gaming area or something?_ Ryan wondered with confusion. _Why in the hell would the dime shines be holding games like that?_ And looking beyond the two stands in front of him, he could see that there were more of the stands, all holding different kinds of entertainments. He didn't think that even the dime shines could afford all those things. That, and he didn't think that the dime shines would want to celebrate the reapings in such a way. _I have to still be in the Capitol, so it wasn't a dream. But... What happened?_

Ryan racked his brain, trying to think of what happened before he had passed out. _We went drinking out in the Capitol after escaping the tribute tower, then we escaped said club, then Ashton and I got ambushed before Falco and Anna saved us. And then..._ It was blank after that, but Ryan had a thought that made him wide awake and forget about his headache. He didn't see or hear Ashton any where.

With a feeling of intense worry, Ryan whipped his head left and right, looking for Ashton, but didn't see her anywhere.

"Ashton?" Ryan cried out, wanting her to say something to him to make sure that she was all right. "Ashton?" No response either time. Ryan got increasingly worried. "Ashton!" He shouted out. _Fuck! Fuck! Where is she? What the fuck happened to her? Is she okay?_

Ryan furiously scratched his head with both hands as he gave out a distressed moan. He felt a whole range of emotions that ranged from fear to anger, but he couldn't figure out which one he felt the most, and he didn't try, his thoughts were tunneled on Ashton. _Did she run away from me because she couldn't accept me? That bitch! I don't want her to leave. Is she someplace else? Maybe someone separated us and she's out looking for me? What what what?_ Ryan became increasingly distraught as his thoughts raced and his emotions flared. His feelings for Ashton bounced back and forth between beloved and vilification with scarcely any middle ground.

Letting out a yell of frustration, Ryan stopped scratching at his head and slammed his palms onto the ground multiple times before he looked up again. And for the first time, he noticed that there was a cylinder shaped bag the colour of coal in front of him. Ryan launched himself towards the bag like it held the answers to his distress and frantically unzipped the duffle bag to inspect it's contents, nearing tearing it from the bag.

Inside the rough canvass bag was a single small rectangular cardboard box that advertised itself as a ready to eat meal, a single plastic water bottle that actually had water inside it, a single package of cigarettes, and a large iron ball that was attached to a chain and cuff. Ryan recognized it as something that the peacekeepers would put onto some of the people that they punished so that they couldn't run away quickly, or just to make their life harder than it needed to be. A ball and chain. Why are these items in here? Ryan thought as he continued to search the contents of the bag before his fingers brushed across paper. Ryan ripped the note out of the bag and read it.

It read: Tribute Ryan Burnout of District Twelve, may the odds be ever in your favor.

It was then that Ryan knew that it wasn't a nightmare, or some kind of bad drug trip that he had been experiencing. He had gotten reaped, and he wasn't in District Twelve. Everything that he had remembered was real. He wasn't even in the Capitol anymore, he then remembered that he had been shot by tranquilizer darts along with Ashton, Anna, and Falco by peacekeepers in white. He knew that without a doubt that he was in the arena. _What the fuck is this?_ Ryan thought as he wondered why he was alone, got equipment, and why there wasn't a bloodbath or a cornucopia.

But a single thought wiped that all away. The thought of Ashton all alone in the arena and at the mercy of some hostile tribute. _I can't let her die!_ Ryan thought before he grabbed the duffle bag straps, scrambled to his feet, and started to run, only to feel the immense weight of his bag. It weighed enough to make him think that it was going to rip his arm out of his socket as he leaned backwards and nearly fell over. "Fuck!" Ryan screamed as he immediately dropped the bag with a loud thud. Infuriated with the pain, Ryan grabbed the ball and chain and threw it away with all his might as he cursed up a storm, which didn't even make it travel that far, but Ryan didn't really give a damn as the ball and chain was now out of his bag and out of his life. _Why would I even need that piece of shit?_ Ryan asked himself before he told himself that he was wasting time and that he needed to find Ashton.

Zipping the bag up, Ryan threw the now much lighter bag over his shoulders like an ordinary backpack and ran. Where he was going he didn't know, and that only made him more angry, frustrated, and worried as he had no idea where Ashton was.

 **You're going to fail.** A man's voice told him. **You're never going to find her.**

"Ahh fuck off will you!" Ryan shouted to the invisible man.

* * *

She was scared.

It didn't really come as a surprise to her that she would be scared when she entered the arena, but the memories of what had happened to her before she had blacked out and awoke in the arena still haunted her. She guessed that it had been hours ago when she had been knocked out, but it felt like mere seconds since she had been chased by peacekeepers inside the Capitol.

They had shot their guns at her, and at first, she thought she was going to die. Though their guns sounded strange, she didn't think about the sound as much as the effect that bullets were going to have on her if they hit her.

She had been good at avoiding them by rushing into the crowd of aviators and shoving aside anyone in her way, making a blockade of people between her and the peacekeepers, knowing that they wouldn't dare try lethal force with aviators in the way. It slowed them down and allow them to get a clear shot at her. She had also hoped that she could lose them in the crowd. To her, it was much like back in District Eight when she needed to get away from hostile shop keepers, but instead of just a punch to the face and a stern lecture that bordered onto needlessly cruel threats, they were going to actually murder her.

She didn't question the fact that they couldn't kill a tribute before they reached the arena until after she had woken up in the abandoned theater. Sitting among the plush red theater seats, Paige Ingram, was crying.

It wasn't from the memory of being chased by peacekeepers, or the memory of being sucker punched in the face by a peacekeeper when she had rounded a corner and getting shot at and thinking that she was going to die. It also wasn't the more immediate and present fact that she felt as if a metal band was wrapped tightly around her head. It was the realization that she was actually in the arena.

She had known that she was going to be in the arena, but Paige kept on trying to encourage herself that things would work out, or better yet, she was just trapped in a nightmare. She didn't focus too much on it as much as she focused on trying to keep her Kleptomania in check. And even then, she felt as if things were so surreal that it wasn't possible for her to be reaped. She kept on denying it.

But now she was in the arena, and the duffle bag containing something less than a single square meal, half a litter of water, a single package of smokes, and a thin black cord that split apart from each other half way with hard plastic half spheres on each end. She had seen such a thing during Capitol television advertisements when she was back in the tribute tower. Headphones she thought they were called. She didn't understand why they'd be called those since she didn't think she'd be able to call her family with them, and she didn't understand why the gamemakers would supply her with them either.

 _Do they want to taunt me? Do they want to remind me of how much I want to go back home and apologize to my family for all the distress I caused them? Because this is some kind of sick fucking joke if it is. You want to call your family? Here, have some headphones that are completely fucking useless!_

Paige took her token, a picture of her and her parents, out of her back pants pocket and looked at it through her tears. _What do I do dad?_ She thought as she thought of her odds of returning back home. _You always knew what to do, even when it seemed impossible. And even when you admitted you didn't know what to do, you seemed to know the best course of action._ Paige knew that because she was a string server, because she was rich, because she was the mayor's daughter, she had lived a better life than almost anyone else in the non-bronhole districts. She was never hungry, she didn't need to do back breaking labor, and she certainly didn't have to worry about many things. She knew that that meant she didn't know how to fight, how to deal with hunger, she wasn't strong, she couldn't deal with being in a survival situation. The only thing she knew how to do was run and steal, and she didn't think that that was going to be helpful in the long run. And the three training days in the Capitol didn't do much to educate her in the ways of surviving the games, which further decreased her confidence.

Maybe if she had a knife or something she'd think there was a ghost of a chance, but there was no cornucopia to even see if there was something that she could grab. So the only thing she had as a weapon was her fists. Wiping her eyes and her running nose, Paige looked at the picture like it would send some sort of answer to her.

"Please dad," she cried with trembling lips. "Please help me." But no answer came from the silence of the theater. Only the buzzing of the lights shining onto the immaculate stage and the candy red velvet seats accompanied her sobbing. It made her feel even more lost and helpless than she had felt before.

She looked over the picture of her younger self and her family, and cast her sights on the floor below. _I'm dead anyway._ Paige thought with sorrow _. I've caused dad great grief and unneeded suffering. His life would be better if I just... Jumped._

Paige upped herself from her seat and walked the two steps she needed to get to the rail that prevented people from accidentally falling to their death. She placed her hands on the smooth wood and lifted her right leg over the rail and brought half her body over the rail. She now sat on the rail, and she knew that all she needed to do was lean a little to the right and gravity would take care of the rest. _I am... Worthless._ Paige thought. _Because of me, District Eight thinks they have an incompetent mayor. Because of me, mom and dad have been bullied by the district. They treat them like a shoe and a boot. Because of me, their quality of life decreased. Just let go, Paige! Do it so that everyone can benefit from it!_

Paige looked down and wondered if she was high enough to kill herself straight away. But the thought of a botched death didn't stop her. It was because her body wouldn't move anymore to the right and her hands wouldn't cooperate with her thoughts. She couldn't let go of the rail that her nails were digging into. _Let go!_ Paige demanded to her shaking arms. _Please! Let go! I deserve this! I brought my parents distress, and even when I didn't even know Stream for that long, I had nearly destroyed him as well! I just bring suffering wherever I go!_ And yet, despite her wanting to, she couldn't. She just, couldn't. A part of her still wanted to live.

Paige cried even harder as she made herself fall to the left, hitting the second story floor, just two steps from where she had awoken. She hit her fist onto the floor once, twice, a third time. _Why? Why can't I ever do anything right?_

Paige looked at the picture, slightly more crumbled than it had been before, once again. _Please help me! Please... Help me. Dad._

Even though Paige knew that her dad wouldn't be able to save her, she still wanted his help. He had rescued her from all kinds of situations back in District Eight, and in a way, she was still the little girl that thought that he was always going to be there for her. But the more realist part of her knew that he wouldn't be able to be there for her forever, and that he wouldn't be able to save her from everything. And The Hunger Games was one of those. He couldn't stop her from getting reaped, and he couldn't stop her from dying in the arena. The games were bigger than him, and so were the aviators in the social hierarchy.

 _Dad's not here._ Paige thought reluctantly. _I... I need to do this. On my own._

Slowly, and with great hesitance, Paige picked herself up, placed the picture back in her pocket, and grabbed her black duffle bag. Wiping the tears that seemed to be never ending on her yellow t-shirt, Paige walked through the alleyway between rows of theater seats. _But what do I do?_

* * *

By all means, she should have been scared.

After all, it would be normal to be scared when you're inside an arena that held twenty three other kids that could potentially murder you at a moment's notice. You didn't know where and when they were going to strike, and you couldn't know how the fight was going to end up like. And then there was the mutts, Capitol creations that the aviators made for the sole reason on making your life even more of a living hell than it already would be. Any one of those things could end your life then and there.

She wasn't scared though. If anything, she was in a daisy mood that might have seemed unsettling to many, but with an immediate plan in formation, Zora Bitseed was confident that she'd have a head start in the game if there was no interference from the pesky gamemakers.

She was still angry that she had been ambushed by peacekeepers when she had arrived at the tribute tower, not only that, but the tranquilizers that they had shot into her gave her a massive headache that she didn't appreciate in the least.

So after letting some of her feelings loose, which consisted of screaming profanity at the cameras before she thew a desk drawer at one of them, she missed, which only made her more pissed off. She ended up kicking and punching holes into the wall, but after that was all said and done, she began working on her base of operations and made it more secure.

From the dead televisions stacked four high and four across and the barred cage with several cots and a single toilet and sink which both had yet to provide water, Zora guessed that it was some kind of holding area for trouble makers. Taking a look outside and taking a quick survey, she saw the stands that were both empty and not, along with a giant wheel like creation made of metal that had its own miniature cages hanging onto the outer sides.

The sky was dark, but the terrain was illuminated by the street lights that were spread out through the area. She guessed that it was some kind of festival gathering _. A festival arena._ She thought. _How fitting since that's what the aviators think of when this damn game is mentioned._

Remembering what she had seen outside the tribute tower, with those kids playing with their toy weapons and play fighting each other, Zora wondered how long they'd last in the arena. She rationalized that they wouldn't last very long since they had no idea in hell on what to do. _After all, they're aviator kids. And to them, it's just a game of fun to watch us fight to the death._

Taking another no handed drag of her cigarette, which had had lit using a sparking power cord, she inspected her handy work. At the front door, the only way to get in and out of the building, Zora had pushed a heavy desk made of solid wood in the way of the door, making it difficult for someone to move it. She knew that it wasn't impossible to move it, but it would make a lot of noise as it scrapped the floor and would give her some precious time to prepare for an intruder. In addition to that, Zora had discovered that the windows acted like one way mirrors. On the outside they were reflective and had steel bars wielded to the building to act as a barricade, but inside the building, Zora could see outside, even if it was darkened because of the tint of the window and the darkness of the arena. So unless someone strong, determined, and had plenty of time, her base would discourage most people from attempting to enter. Not that it will detour everyone, but I'll set up some more things later. Even so, got a plan for that as well.

Attached to the nearest desk leg was a length of string that she had tied to her ankle. If the desk moved, it would pull her leg, and with the way she had positioned her cot, if the hostile tribute or mutt opened it far enough for them to squeeze though the door, she'd have fallen to the floor and get woken up if the floor being scrapped didn't wake her first.

Elsewhere in the room, below the series of TVs was a control panel of sorts, something they probably used to spy on people attending the festival. _If I can get this up and running, I can maybe find out where people and mutts are more easily and find what they have on them and see if they're heading my way. Find out where's safe and where's not. Hmm... Wish I had the electronic smarts of someone from District Three or Five so that I could actually know how the hell this thing works._

Zora curled the fingers of her right hand into a fist and saw what the gamemakers had provided for her inside the duffle bag in addition to the less than meager meal and plastic bottle of water and cigarettes. It still pissed her off that the bastards had failed to provide her with a lighter or a box of matches to light her smokes, but for now, the torn and sparking cord would act as a lighter.

Zora smiled at the instrument of destruction around her knuckles. It was light, solid, and all around powerful in the hands of a competent fighter, and she was very much a competent fighter.

Devoid of makeup that she wore to hide the scars on her face and hands, Zora looked as if she had gotten into many fights. And she had. The brass knuckles that she had been granted were going to serve her well, she just knew it. Not only did it protect her fists from getting hurt, allowing her to punch harder without feeling as much pain, it also delivered extra damage to the unlucky bastard that crossed her path. A few blows to the skull and she could possibly get it to fracture. A lucky hit to the jaw and it would be broken.

 _Knife would have been better, but for the most part, these aren't bad._ Zora thought as she gently hit the wall in front of her, feeling the impact of brass on solid wood.

She then let out a yawn, letting her still smoking death stick fall to the floor before she snuffed it out with her boot.

 _Fuckers killed my salted ice high with those drugs, and I'm tired. Will search for supplies later._

Zora headed for her chosen cot, laid in it, and used the chair cushion for her pillow. She knew that most of the tributes would be running around the arena like a bunch of headless chickens. They'd be lost, confused, and afraid. They wouldn't be able to think clearly through their fear. Not only that, but their thinking would start to fade due to fatigue, but their paranoia would not allow them to sleep.

So while the start was young, she was going to rest up while she still could, and in the end, have a fresher and clearer mind than the other tributes. They'd end up being easier targets and easier prey.

 _Let the game begin._ Zora thought before she drifted off into a slumber.

 **A/N: Hiatus time for me! Yay? I don't know. But at least now I've got time to make more detailed plans for this fic... I mean... Spend some time in another fandom... Yeah... That's it... Either way, another fandom awaits as an end of an era comes near for the sub-culture within that fandom, which is a sub-culture within itself.**

 **I'll also see if I can get some reviews into another fic in which I owe about thirty or something chapters of reviews for them and haven't reviewed in months... More than likely not as I'll be more focused on the other fandom, but still...**

 **Anyway, I made it to the arena for this fic. Yay! Prepare for bloody violence and death and more back story and other things as I take great pleasure in making my tributes suffer! This chapter was a short one as it establishes the awakening of the tributes.**

 **On the other scale of emotion, I recently looked at some SYOT guides and had a thought: Is it possible to avoid EVERY cliche?**


	33. First Contact

_Those living in the Lamp Stamp part of District Twelve could always feel death looming over them. Some more than others, but everyone could feel it. They were so used to it that it almost felt natural, but there was always a sense of fear that came with it. So they did things to try and make death delay their departure to the after life._

 _Ryan could see some of those desperate people as he stood at a corner of a pretty well known store within the Seam since it sold relatively good food at a pretty fair price. Though it wasn't dime shine quality stuff, it was usually better than most home cooked meals within the Seam. But the thing that made it famous, or infamous if you had your mind in that position of thought, was that it was close to the orphanage. It made it one of the hubs for questionable activities in which some people sought after. Mainly those that could afford the services and products._

 _As Ryan scanned the crowd, he looked for such people, those that wouldn't mind the company of a twelve year old lamp stamp of his physique and appearance._

 _Smoking a cigarette, Ryan looked at his competition. There were several girls in his immediate line of sight, and he knew that they were offering the same thing as him. Maybe more, or something else, but he was pretty sure they were selling the same thing he was. They glared at him, so he glared back. He hated them since they were trying to steal people from him. They wanted the same thing as he did, but while they had one main objective, Ryan had two, and both of which were important. Of which, the second one was what drove him to be the one that would beat those girls at their own game._

Those bitches only care about the money. _He thought as he blew out smoke, only adding to the already slightly foggy environment that was rolling through the area._ Me? I've got something important that I need in addition to the money.

 _Ryan turned his gaze to his nearest competitor, and saw another lamp stamp girl. One, like many others in this line of work, that put an effort into looking more attractive than usual to draw in people. Clothes that had been washed considerably while their black hair had been brushed until it was free of knots and their nails free from dirt. He could also see that she had left enough buttons on her shirt until to show off her cleavage without revealing too much of her exposed collar bones._

 _Ryan held his gaze for a few more seconds before he turned away from the girl and looked back at the passing citizens. Some of them looked at him, but even more were looking at the girls. Ryan hated that. And while some of them were interested in the males that also lined themselves up through the streets, Ryan could see that most of them wanted female attention. Ryan wanted to be noticed, but he knew that he couldn't just run up to people and demand them to take him. All it did was scare them away and make him look more desperate than he really was, even if he was very desperate. So he waited. He waited until he saw an opportunity. And it sucked. It fucking sucked waiting._

 _Kicking at the dirt, Ryan resisted the increasing urge to demand attention._

 _He looked up again, and allowed his eyes to get wide, as a relatively pudgy family of dime shines were walking down the street, coming out of the fog almost like ghosts, scanning the area. They looked like clean shirts as well. Even better. He didn't know what they were looking for, but he didn't want this opportunity to pass, so he flicked his near finished cigarette away and started to quickly walk towards them._

 _Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his neighboring rival going towards them as well. He didn't want her to take them away from him, so he ran. He didn't care how desperate it made him look, when prizes like that came a knocking, you couldn't let them slide away._

 _He ran, so she ran. Ryan ran harder, she did as well._ Fuck! Go away! They're mine! _Ryan internally screamed before they arrived at the dime shine family at the same time, which frustrated Ryan. So he acted quickly._

 _"I'll give you sex if you'll be my friend!" Ryan blurted out to the family before the girl could say a word._

 _Ryan looked at the family, which consisted of an older man and woman who looked like they might be nearing their mid forties while there was a teenage boy and girl who couldn't be any older than seventeen or eighteen. They all looked at Ryan in surprise._

 _"Well I'll give you a better time in bed than he ever will." The girl countered._

 _"Don't trust her," Ryan told the family. "She's a lair and a cunt that'll steal whatever she can when she's finished with you."_

 _"Look at him, you think you can trust a face like that?"_

 _"She'll give you an S.T.D."_

 _"I've got no S.T.D but have more experience than a little boy like him."_

 _"Little? You're not that much taller than me ya fuck wit."_

 _"Better to have wits about fucking than being a dumb fuck."_

 _"How old are you?" The dime shine father asked, killing the argument._

 _"Twelve." Ryan answered._

 _"Fifteen." The girl answered._

 _"I like the girl." The blond haired boy cut in._

 _"Well we did want a girl in the first place." The father said._

 _"Ha!" The rival laughed. All Ryan did was growl as he mentally pictured the girl being strangled to death and resisted pulling his knife out of his tattered and oversized hooded brown jacket._

 _The teenage whore then walked away with the dime shine family in triumph with a swagger in his step as she chatted up the family in her best sultry voice. Ryan did his best to walk back to his corner as calmly as he could. He didn't make it half way back before he started to repeatedly punch the ground in frustration and curse up a storm._ Damn it! I hate her I hate her I hate her! I hate that family as well! Bunch of bitches and bastards the lot of them!

 _After letting some of his anger out, Ryan went back to his spot and started to wait again, hoping that someone would come to him. Lighting up a second cigarette before letting out a heavy sigh, Ryan wondered briefly wondered if he should offer the next person some of the marijuana he had along with oral sex._ If I was a girl this would be so much easier. Fuck those female whores!

 _"Hey," a feminine voice said to him. "I'll be your friend if you want. No sex required. Unless you want to."_

 _Ryan looked up and saw a fellow lamp stamp girl looking at him. She looked to be a teenager with slightly above shoulder length, slightly scruffy black hair and grey eyes that looked both hardened and warm. And like many other lamp stamps, she was lanky, but had enough bust to tell that she was a girl._

 _"Do you really mean that?" Ryan asked hopefully._

 _"Yeah. Everyone needs a friend." She replied._

 _For the first time that day, Ryan smiled._

* * *

On his knees and giving out raspy, ragged coughs, Ryan felt as if his chest was caving in as thick ropes of tainted saliva fell from his mouth. It didn't help that he tasted the salty sweat that was pouring down his face and said sweat was making the inside of his shirt sticky.

Never before had he ran so far or so hard. Sure he had gone long distances before, but he had never gone that far that fast. And though he had stopped several times in an attempt to catch his breath, Ryan never stopped for long as he knew that every second that he delayed was another second that Ashton could be in danger. And he didn't want to lose her.

Wiping his mouth with his jacket sleeve and shaking his head, trying to get rid of memories from years past, he staggered back to his feet and ignored the mocking voices from within as memories came and went at their own pleasure. The voices took great pleasure in reminding him of things that he didn't want to remember.

Especially of her. He wanted to hate her for leaving him, but he couldn't. Not after everything she had done, minus the whole leaving him part.

Slapping himself in the face, Ryan readied himself for another round of running, only for his chest to tighten again and force him back into a fit of coughing that sent him back onto his knees. The voices laughed at him for that. And Ryan felt nothing but anger towards himself. He felt weak, he felt helpless, he felt worthless.

Growling towards himself, Ryan grabbed the right side of his neck with his right hand and dug his fingernails into his neck, feeling the still recovering slashes he had put there the day before the reapings, and allowed the pain to flare up and send ripples of agony through his body.

Hissing, Ryan continued to dig his nails into his flesh until he could feel his wounds re-opening and felt the warmth of oozing blood on his finger tips. That was when he finally stopped tearing at his flesh. The voices were still talking to him, but there was nothing he could do about that he at least felt a little bit better.

Getting back to his feet, Ryan walked through the arena, avoiding everything around him and ignoring the sights. The only thing that mattered to him inside the fucking place was a certain blond dime shine girl.

"Ashton!" Ryan tried to call out, but he was too out of breath to do it effectively. _Fuck!_ He wanted to run, but every time he tried he found himself nearly stumbling to the ground again. So he walked, because that was the best he could do.

He really wanted a smoke as well, but the gamemakers had failed to provide him with a lighter, and that pissed him off as well.

Continuing to look around, Ryan saw a sight that actually caught his attention. It was a bronhole with paint spattered clothing running towards him as he came around an empty stand, and while the sight might have made other tributes run away, what really caught Ryan's attention, and made him stay in place was the fact that he had an orange safety cone on his head like some sort of hat.

Looking at Splendor Blackwell, Ryan guessed that he had been running around the arena as well, but wasn't even close to looking as tired as he was. That was when Ryan got an idea.

"Hey you!" Both of them shouted simultaneously. "Have you seen Ashton/Radiance?"

Both teenagers then glared at each other. "Hey!" Both of them shouted at the same time again. "I asked YOU! Stop that!" Ryan started to even more angry at Splendor as he kept on saying what he was saying, only instead of saying Ashton he said Radiance, and wasn't answering his question, and he swore that Splendor's anger kept on matching his own increasing anger. "I'm asking you the questions! Where's Ashton/Radiance! Stop repeating me!" Both of them then started to do exaggerated hand movements as well. "Answer me! I asked you first! Where's my district partner! Fuck you! You're wasting my time! They could be in danger!" Nether of them had taken a single breath for their entire argument, but Ryan was forced to take one as Splendor continued to shout.

"Have you seen her or not!"

"Have you seen Ashton!"

Neither of the boys controlled the volume of their voices and spoke so rapidly that they talked over each other, and if an outside listener was listening, they could have mistaken the entire conversation for one long sentence.

"What do you want!" Splendor shouted as he seemed to rip his duffle bag zipper apart as it's contents fell to the ground.

"I only want Ashton you fuck!" Ryan shouted back, but Splendor didn't seem to hear him as he dropped the duffle bag and threw things at Ryan.

"Here! Take my water!" Splendor told him as he carelessly threw his full water bottle at Ryan, even though they were only about ten feet away from each other. "Take my food and cigarettes while your at it!" He yelled before he threw those things as well.

"I don't want your water, or any of your shit!" Ryan countered as he threw each item back.

"Sure you don't!" Splendor shouted back sarcastically as he threw things back. "Take my duffle bag as well you fuck!"

The two boys continued to throw things back in forth as they screamed at each other, causing the water bottle to inevitably break and spill it's contents to the ground.

"Fucking useless now!" Ryan yelled before he kicked the plastic bottle back towards Splendor, who caught it in his hand before it could hit him in the face.

"And who's fault is that you dumb shit!" Splendor yelled back as he threw the leaking bottle back.

"Yours you dip shit!" Ryan answered before he moved out of the way of the flying projectile. He saw Splendor then pick his duffle bag up and bag the smokes and ready to eat meal package.

"I haven't seen your girl!"

"Well neither have I!"

"Fuck!"

"Fuck!"

"You're useless!"

"So are you!"

Both boys glared at each other so hard it could have been a scare tactic. Then just as suddenly as they started fighting, both of them ran past each other.

"I don't have time for this!" Both of them yelled to each other.

"Ashton!" Ryan shouted.

"Radiance!" He heard Splendor shout.

* * *

Seeing the horses in front of him only reminded him of home.

 _The horses are alive until they're of no use anymore_. Falco thought as he looked at the mechanical beasts in front of him. Horses of all colours, yet all of them were the same size as each other, had been impaled down their necks by a long metal pole that attached themselves from the top of a round tent like structure to the ground. Falco guessed that the horses were supposed to spin around the tent and give those that were riding it a sense of, well, riding a horse. _And just like us inside the arena, we're alive until someone kills us, and then, we're of no use to the aviators anymore. Ponies we are to the likes of them._

But unlike them, even if the horses died by the hands of their owners they still had some use. After they were put down they'd be cut up and used for glue, food, and other things. Falco didn't know what use the aviators, or the families of the dead, had for use with dead bodies besides burying them and hope that they'd make good fertilizer for the farms. But that was maybe only for Districts Nine through Eleven as he didn't think that any other district had farm lands. Unless, of course, District Twelve resorted back to cannibalism, just like in the story Ryan had told back at that Capitol club. And if that was even real in the first place. _If someone in the arena dies, maybe they could be turned into food if a tribute is extra careful, as the aviators don't like to see tributes resort to cannibalism._

Of all the things Falco found horrific about The Hunger Games, there were two things that he did think were funny about them. One was that in a game survival, the aviators still had rules that they put in place for the tributes. One was that the tributes had to obey the aviator's wishes of not going too far in terms of survival and what they considered vile. The other was that they censored swearing. Falco couldn't help but give out a chuckle, because out of all the violence and suffering they broadcasted to the nation, the aviators didn't want their kids to learn how to swear too early. Or something.

Sighing and shaking his head, thinking of how he shouldn't be thinking about what was going through aviator minds outside of the arena when he should be focusing on what was happening within the arena.

Hitching that duffle bag straps over his shoulders and adjusting them into a more comfortable position, he turned away from the horses and wondered what kind of arena he was in. He guessed from that show... Place with the stage with the comfy red seats and that place with machines that looked like they could have been entertaining to play if they actually worked, along with all the food and drink stands that were around, he guessed that it might be some sort of festive themed arena.

 _Shame that those food and drink stands are empty, but what could that giant metal wheel be of any use of?_ He quickly dismissed the thought and wondered if searching through the food stands was the best course of action as it seemed to be the place that tributes would flock towards in the chance of easy food since all the gamemakers had provided them with was a ready to eat meal with a half liter of water, cigarettes, and a weapon, which was generous of them since they didn't have a cornucopia or a bloodbath. Falco wondered about it, but he didn't question it.

He then decided that if he acted fast and found some food and liquids before some other tribute found them, he'd be in a good spot as there seemed to be dozens, if not hundreds, of empty stands.

He continued on his search, checking out a couple more stands, finding them also devoid of items before he ran a hand through his hair. _Maybe these stands are too obvious and we're just running around like chickens with our heads chopped off. I mean, if the aviators wanted action, this is the quickest way to ensure that the tributes find each oth-_

Falco then felt agony detonate between his legs a split second before he gave out a wail and fell to his knees to cradle himself. _What in the hell?_ He wondered as he vision briefly turned to white, grey, and black lines as he felt something coil around his neck and cut off his air supply.

Upon instinct, Falco grabbed the thing around his neck, and felt something that was thin, rubbery, and probably durable as well. He didn't know what it was, but he pulled at it as his sight came back, not wanting to be strangled to death. _Ugh! That foxy fuck!_

He couldn't get his fingers under the rubber rope and he found it getting increasingly harder to draw breath as he moved his head and torso about in a desperate attempt to give even a moment of freedom. It didn't work. He moved frantically, but the rubber rope only seemed to dig deeper into his neck.

As black, red, and purple slugs came into his vision, Falco's hands abandoned his neck and he seriously hoped that his uncertain plan was worth the risk.

Reaching back, he felt hands, a little further back he felt wrists, and with a mighty tug, he pulled his enemy forward, feeling their chest slam onto his back and the back of his head. A rush of air came into his lungs as he gasped. The slugs in his sights faded away and he felt light headed as his enemy struggled to get out of his grasp. But Falco held onto their wrists before he got one foot free and he got himself into the crouching position. He then got his other foot onto the ground and found himself in the squatting position.

Then with a yell, he attempted to copy a bronhole move he had seen in a couple of previous Hunger Games. He bent forward and threw the person over his back. Falco found his face hitting the ground before he unintentionally rolled onto his back and found himself staring at the night sky that hadn't changed one bit since he had woken up. _Those bronholes made it look so easy._ He thought before he scrambled to his feet and pulled out his weapon from the sheath clipped onto his belt.

He ran over to the hostile tribute, who was getting to their feet, and was ready to put his machete into their head when he saw who it was, and upon instinct, the blade missed the bloody face of Paige Ingram before she let out a scream.

"Paige?" Falco asked, before realizing how stupid it sounded. Pulling back his machete back into a position ready to strike, Paige held her arms out to defend her face as she turned her head away and closed her eyes and once again screamed. It wasn't a good defense since all it would do was slash her arm at a minimum and sever it completely at worst, but more than likely it would slice her skin and break her ulna.

Falco knew what he had to do, but he couldn't. Not only could he remember his father's lessons about guarding and protecting women, but he also remembered thinking about the assholes who did things to females. The very people he detested.

And more than anything, he didn't want to kill Paige. She looked so helpless and so scared, like a lost little girl. He could see tears pouring from her face and hear her cries. And there was the fact that the right side of her face had been lacerated, probably due to scrapping the ground. And while it didn't look like it was bleeding profusely, the amount of places her face had been scrapped open and bleed seemed to make up for that.

 _I have to do this!_ Falco thought angrily. _She tried to kill you! This is The Hunger Games! You think that the deaths of people here matter because of their sex? The girls won't show you the same mercy to you! It'll be easy, like butchering a cow at the slaughter house!_ The boy didn't move, he couldn't move, because even though he knew what needed to be done he just didn't want to do it. He didn't want to kill Paige. He... Couldn't kill Paige. _At least take her supplies!_ A dark thought surfaced into his mind.

Falco growled, and that only caused Paige to whimper. Falco knew that getting her supplies would increase his chances of surviving, but he pictured Paige without supplies and how she would slowly suffer until she perished due to dehydration. _I..._ Falco could feel the tears forming in his eyes.

"FUCK!" Falco shouted, causing Paige to give out a high pitch shriek.

"Please please please please please." Paige cried out as Falco ran away.

He knew that there were people laughing at him, that there were people booing him and criticizing him. He knew that he'd lost sponsors and respect from the aviators and he knew that his family was probably disappointed with him, probably thinking that he didn't want to come home. And while he didn't care what the aviators or what the viewers were thinking about he did care about the thoughts of his family and had a desire to go home. And that made him cry. Because while he knew what needed to be done...

 _Can't do this._

* * *

 _"Loyal, if you could do one thing, what would you do?"_

 _"Are you really asking me that?" Loyal asked as he fiddled with the device in front of him. It was a long silver coloured cylinder decorated with black scorch marks with a slightly smaller cylinder on the top, and the two teenagers wanted to try it out. The damn thing had a tendency to explode when you least expected it, or at least that's what they had been told, but Loyal figured that he and she would only use it once or twice before selling it to another poor sucker and hope that it exploded in their hands and not in theirs._

 _"Yeah, I'm really asking." Radiance told him, smiling. While she was thankful that her medication was working, she hated the way that Loyal was feeling. While his medication helped him, it was the same as her own, it came and went as most of the time it worked, but there were times where it didn't. She guessed that the aviators gave out silver medications and kept the golden ones for themselves._

 _Because her best friend wasn't feeling that well, she decided to do what he did for her, and try to cheer him up a little. It might not work, but it was worth the try. After all, Loyal had done plenty for her before._

 _With a light skinned body that had lost most of it's athletic grace, a head of gingerbread coloured hair and several days worth of stubble growth, Loyal looked like he needed something to cheer him up._

 _"If you really want to know," Loyal asked with a tone that had hints of slight somber in it. "I'd want people like you to stop having what you have."_

 _"Periods?" Radiance joked._

 _"Psychotic depression." Loyal answered, apparently not getting that she had been joking. He loaded the hash oil into the cylinder as Radiance was taken aback slightly._

 _"Why?" Radiance asked with curiosity. "Because if I could get whatever I wanted I'd want you to get rid of your bipolar type two."_

 _"Yours is worse." Loyal told her. "I mean seriously, you're not only majorly depressed, but you've also got psychosis, a drab combination. Me? I've only got major depression sometimes."_

 _"But..." Radiance said, shifting her position on the bed they were sitting on. "You shift between moods. You know, first you're depressed, and then you're hypomanic, and then you're as normal as you can be. I mean, not in that order and who knows for how long, but you get to experience normality and happiness, only for it to get ripped away from you. I think yours is worse."_

 _"If we didn't have these pills, you'd always be depressed." Loyal countered with a deadpanned voice. "I at least would get to experience normality and hypomania."_

 _Loyal finished putting in the hash oil into the device and closed it up. "And to be quite frank with you Radiance, you're quite a bitch when you're depressed. But that's just coming from someone who talks like an emotionless person when they're depressed."_

 _"I think you're only depressed if you're thinking of me like that." Radiance responded with a smile._

 _"I wouldn't know if I'm majorly depressed or not," Loyal said back. "But you would." The teenage boy then pressed a black button on the metallic tube before a glass window lit up with blue light and the sound of air being sucked occurred._

 _Loyal then released the button, pulled the tube from his mouth, held his breath for a bit, then blew out a thick cloud of toxic vapor like he was a factory chimney. He then gave out some raspy coughs as more fog came out of his mouth as he passed the inhaler thing to her._

 _Radiance sucked on the device and pushed the button, feeling the chemicals filling up her lungs before she pulled it away, held it in, and blew out thick fog. Huh... Tastes sweet. "You know Radiance, this might seem funnier in a few minutes, but do you think we'll get lost in this fog we've created within my room?"_

 _"Guess we'll find out." Radiance told him with a smile before they passed the device back and forth, increasing the density of the fog inside the bedroom._

* * *

Failure.

That's all that memory served as she continued to stay curled up in her duffle bag with the zipper only slightly undone. It kept her alive because dying from air loss inside the duffle bag took too long.

Radiance shifted her position slightly as the shadow man and woman mocked her for her bronze attempt of cheering her best friend up that day, because the following day, he had attempted suicide for the third time.

All she had wanted to do was cheer him up, but instead, she nearly killed him. Loyal had told her that she had had nothing to do with his attempted suicide, but she disagreed, because she wondered if that hash oil had given him the desire, or the idea, to resurface and shove it's ugly head back into his mind. She wondered intensely from time to time if her attempts of cheering him up drove him to try suicide for the third time in his life.

 _I just wanted to help him, but I fucked up. If I try to help someone, I fuck up._

When she had awoken from her slumber, courtesy to the peacekeepers shooting her with some kind of sedative dart, she had fallen into the darkness, and when she had woken up, she felt nothing but anguish. She had wanted to die when the peacekeepers shot her back in the Capitol. She didn't want to wake up. But she did, because nothing ever seemed to go her way. And to add insult to injury, she had a spiting head ache when she had awoken.

But to rub salt into the wounds even more, the duffle bag that she had found didn't contain what she wanted either. She was hoping to find a bladed weapon, or something that she could poison herself with. Instead she got food, water, cigarettes with no lighter or matches, and a brick. _What the hell am I supposed to do with a brick? Bash myself to death?_

Radiance could have sworn that she had heard someone calling out her name, but ignored them as she didn't care what they wanted with her, but at the same time, hoped that they'd find her and kill her, because she had no energy to go out searching for murderous tributes. She also didn't have the energy to go out and search for a lighter or a pack of matches.

Instead, she crawled into the duffle bag and hoped that the world would disappear all together.

Letting out a yawn, Radiance closed her eyes and hoped that she'd fall asleep.

 _Maybe if I fall asleep, I won't wake up this time._

* * *

She thought she might have been ready for this.

Or at least, as prepared as a non-bronhole could have been if they had been reaped. Sure she wasn't as skilled as the bronholes, but she had considered herself more ready than she should have been since her father had been a victor himself and he had tried to teach her some tips and tricks in case she was ever reaped. He had told her that because she was the child of a victor, she was more likely to be reaped than the general population. And while she had seen children of victors being reaped before, she doubted that every single one of them had been reaped and she had hoped that the Capitol would avoid her.

They didn't, and now she was here in the arena, like her father had been years before.

She had hoped that she wouldn't have been picked, but she had been, and she struggled to remember the lessons her father had tried to teach her. She knew that some of what he taught her could save her life, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what he tried to teach her, and it was driving her mad.

Groaning to herself because she couldn't remember her father's lessons and the fact that she had a headache that was worse than any hangover she had ever experienced. Her head continued to throb painfully and her eyes felt as if they had a near non-existent layer of sap over them.

More than anything however, she was wondering why she had woken up in the arena and why there was no cornucopia and no bloodbath. She had been drinking with Carver the night before, and she had blacked out before awaking in the arena. Though she was thankful that there wasn't a bloodbath as she felt as that she'd have been eliminated from the competition during that event.

But that didn't take her out of the woods completely, as she had encountered another tribute earlier and had to run away from them in order to survive.

Having woken up inside an area with cubical tank like cages that were filled high with water and fish surrounding her, Ivy decided to try and catch some since she was already there and could use the food that the fish could provide. Her duffle bag didn't help her with the job of catching fish as it provided some food, water, cigarettes, and a rubber snake that was only about six inches long.

Ivy tried catching the animals with her hands, but that didn't pan out as well as she would have liked, so she explored the area until she found something that could help her. Most of the rooms turned out to be useless to her, but inside one of the rooms had been a small net attached to a thin plastic handle. It looked more like a children's toy than anything else, but she figured that it would be more effective than bare handed fishing as she was no District Four fisher.

But as she had gotten ready to try and fish again, she heard the shouting of a tribute. It had sounded hostile and ready for violence. She had turned towards the voice to see that it was Blue Villegas holding a makeshift spear made from a mop handle and something black and pointed tied to it's end.

The bronhole charged towards her, and she didn't need a lesson from her father to know that she couldn't take a bronhole in a one on one fight. Especially when said bronhole had a weapon and she didn't.

She managed to escape, but only because she had lost the bastard in the aquatic center and manged to get out of there without him noticing. _Wonder if he's still looking for me._ Ivy wondered as she inspected her new grounds.

There was a series of multi-coloured pipes that had nozzles attached to them, like some kind of sprinkler system, except that she couldn't see why it would be needed in a area like this. There were no obvious fire hazards, and why would an inverted U shaped pipe stuck into the ground need sprinklers?

She didn't think too hard on that as she noticed that there were gun like things attached to concrete poles that were rooted to the ground. They also had a nozzle attached to their end. _Water guns_. Ivy thought as she looked at the colourful slides and an equally colourful castle like structure with a network of pipes connecting to it _. A water play area?_ Ivy thought. She then wondered if the arena was supposed to be some sort of water themed arena, until she remembered the many empty stands and the washroom she had encountered on her way from the aquatic fish tank center to her current location.

 _Is this supposed to be a... Capitol park or something?_

Ivy pondered on that thought for a moment before she wiped her nose on her grey shirt sleeve as she sat on a wooden bench.

In between wondering why this game was so sliding against the grain, Ivy knew that she was suffering from withdrawal. Her nose was running profusely, her eyes always felt on the verge of tearing up, and there was aching in her muscles along with the shaking of her arms like they were anxious themselves. It was very unpleasant, and she knew that it was only going to get worse as she wondered if she'd start sweating and start getting the chills soon. And then there were the more unpleasant and severe symptoms as well. She did not look forward to those.

She tried to focus on something else other than her withdrawal symptoms and wondered what her father had tried to teach her. She thought and she thought, hitting her head as she did, but her running nose and aching muscles kept on distracting her. That, and she didn't think she could think too straight either.

 _It's a good thing that Blue announced his presents, otherwise I might not have gotten away from him._ Ivy thought _. He's faster, stronger, and a better fighter than I am. And then there was his weapon. If he had gotten close enough to me he might have skewered me with it._

That was when a thought hit her. _His weapon. It wasn't a real spear, it was an improvised one. One that was still deadly and effective._

Ivy then looked back at her supplies, and saw what she had. A single small meal, a water bottle, cigarettes, a green rubber snake with white stripes, and the little net that she had found. Ivy then took a page out of Blue's book, and brought the plastic handle to her knee and attempted to snap a part of it off to created a pointed edge. All it did was bend the handle. Ivy, with disappointment, looked at the handle before telling herself that she had tried.

Sighing, she knew that the aviators watching expected a lot from her, being a victor's daughter and all. But the thing was, she didn't know anymore shit than the average tribute until she could start thinking about her father's lessons. Live, fight, survive. Those were the three main things for a tribute in the arena. _Maybe if I could remember my father's lessons I wouldn't be in this mess._

Wiping her nose again before rubbing her eyes, Ivy wondered if she'd be unfortunate enough to have her withdrawal symptoms turn severe. She shuddered at that thought as she packed her items back into her duffle bag.

 _If this is a water park or something, maybe I could find a valve or something to turn this place on. Then I could have all the water I want._ Ivy pondered that thought for a moment. _But that would then attract people to this location, and that's just asking for kindling. But then again, maybe I could find the valve, turn it on, find something to hold the water and then turn it off and destroy the system so that others can't take advantage of this. Maybe. But first I've got to think about-_

Ivy was thrown out of her thoughts as she felt the right side of her head being smashed into the back bench railing, causing her vision to sparkle as pain flared through her head.

Ivy moaned long enough for her attacker to slam her head into the back bench railing a second time, causing Ivy to scream and moan some more as even more pain flared through the side of her head.

She swung her arms blindly at her attacker, who she guessed was on her left side, hitting nothing but air before she felt her hair being tugged backwards, causing her to scream again as she felt as if her hair was being ripped from her scalp. She grabbed her hair to avoid just that before she found herself turning head over ass over the bench arm before she found herself with agony washing over her back and she herself sprawled on her back. And not only that, there was agony washing over her face as well. _Did they... Did they punch me in the face and flip me over the bench arm?_ Ivy wondered before she gave out a groan and slowly picked herself up, her spine aching as much as her muscles.

As she sluggishly got into an awkward sitting position, Ivy swore she could taste sick metallic on her tongue as her top lip felt like it was warm and raw in a bad way. Ivy reached to her lip and touched it, feeling that it was warm and slightly sticky while also wincing at her own touch. She pulled her fingers away and licked her upper lip, feeling it go inside her flesh both on the inside and outside of her lip. She looked at her hand, and saw crimson red on her finger tips in shock.

Ivy whimpered a little as the full extent of her injuries hit her, making her upper lip feel like it was on fire. She then looked to see who had attacked her, and saw a tanned skin, black haired girl who was wearing a dark purple, knee length dress over blue denim pants. Marsha Trent.

Ivy didn't want to go and fight the stupid girl, but she saw that Marsha had dumped her supplies out of her bag and was putting them into her own. Ivy knew that she needed those supplies, and while she was in a water park she didn't know if she was going to get it to shoot water out. So against her better judgement, she scrambled to her feet and charged towards the bronhole.

Ivy meant to tackle her to the ground before beating her face in. She ended up tackling Marsha, and literally bounced off of her and landed on her butt in a daze. She had not expected Marsha to be as sturdy as a solid redwood tree.

Groaning again, Ivy saw her vision go fuzzy for a couple seconds before it recovered itself. The first thing she saw when her sight had recovered was Marsha standing right over her as she lifted up her right leg. Ivy gasped in fear before she held her hands out to defend herself. It didn't do anything as Marsha's leg went right through the pitiful defenses and struck her in the mouth, causing Ivy to feel some more agony as her upper lip felt like it's flesh had been torn off. She swore that she could feel some of her teeth dig into her inner upper lip as well.

Ivy cried out in pain before she rolled over and started to scramble to her feet, holding her mouth at the same time. Unfortunately, she only manged to stumble about two steps and didn't even get off her knees before she felt a hand wrap around her left ankle and start dragging her backwards.

Whimpering and frantically clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to escape, Ivy could only feel her shirt being ridden up as the right side of her bare stomach and chest scrapped against the ground as her nails uselessly scratched the ground in her attempt to get away.

The next thing she knew, she was floating in the air. She had enough time to feel herself flying, but not enough time to question it, nor did she have the time to scream before she felt the left side of her body slam into a wall of wood, hearing it crack before she fell onto her front, onto another set of laid out wood. It knocked the wind out of her and she momently forgot how to breathe.

Ivy only managed to realize that the bronhole had thrown her onto the bench before she rolled onto her left side, feeling agony spread through her body before she saw Marsha lift her right leg and kick her square in the chest, sending ripples of torment through her entire body as she heard, rather than felt, the back of the bench breaking, allowing her to fly through the air before hitting the ground, painfully roll several times as pieces of timber landed on the ground, and pass out.

Ivy opened her eyes.

They were heavy and felt like they were layered with a drop of sap each, but the thing that occurred the most to her was just how much torment she was in.

Giving out ragged, uneven coughs that made her chest feel like it was going to shatter because of those coughs, Ivy wipped her nose and mouth of the warm and irritating liquid that was leaking from them, and felt the fabric of her shirt travel roughly across her. It felt like she was rubbing rough tree bark across her mouth and nose.

Wincing, Ivy removed her shirt from herself, and saw that her sleeve now had a long smear of red blood on it. Ivy touched her mouth, and felt her upper lip, it was split open and bleeding heavily on the inside and the outside of her mouth. It was split open so badly that it looked somewhat like raw ground up meat and felt like it had been slashed a thousand times. Her mouth felt like it was being consumed by a wild fire and Ivy swore that Marsha had kicked a couple of teeth loose.

She touched her nose, and felt it pouring blood out of both her nostrils. Touching her head, she found that while all of it hurt, only the left side was bleeding, though she didn't know how heavily, but it was likely not too severe.

Then there was the pain in her chest, sides, and back. Ivy lifted her shirt up, and saw that while she wasn't bleeding any where there, the right side of her rib cage was an angry red colour from being dragged on the ground. Her chest was also an angry red where she had been kicked. She couldn't see how her back was, but she knew that it wasn't bleeding since her hands had left it blood free, but it still hurt to touch.

Ivy groaned and turned her head left and right, wondering if Marsha was going to finish her off in some cruel and sadistic way to gain sponsors. She didn't see the bronhole or her supplies, and let out a sigh of relief, though she had to cut it short because of her aching chest.

Wincing and grabbing her chest, closing her eyes and trying to avoid crying due to how much it hurt. _I should have just ran away_. Ivy told herself. _If I did, Marsha would have only taken my supplies. But now I'm hurting like a mother fucker AND Marsha has taken my supplies. Stupid. I'm so stupid._

Ivy allowed herself to recover a little, but knew that she had to get out of there before another tribute showed up. She had to leave the water park and find some place else to hide and recover.

Ivy sluggishly went to stand, but part way through, she felt her hair tugging her scalp painfully. _What the hell?_ She wondered before she sat back down and turned her head to look behind her. Following the trail of her maroon hair, Ivy saw that Marsha had tied it to the metal leg of the now partly broken bench. Ivy tried to lift up the bench, but it didn't move an inch. Ivy guessed that it was firmly attached to the ground.

She tired to until the knot, but it was a tight and complex knot that she couldn't even get to budge.

"No." Ivy cried, feeling her front teeth scrapping the inside of her upper lip painfully. "No, no, no." She continued to try and undo the knot, but it was futile. "Please. Please." Ivy begged as she tasted metallic blood while it ran down her face and dripped off her chin. "Please." Ivy cried before stopped trying to undo the knot and just laid on the ground in defeat.

Marsha hadn't killed her, but she had doomed her all the same.

 **A/N: Hey guys, just so you know, I'm still on my hiatus, but I felt like writing a chapter, so I did. I hope you like it.**


	34. Meet The Mutts

_Ivy, if there's one thing that you should never, ever, forget about when you're inside the arena, it's to, under no circumstances, let your guard down. Ever._

Those words spoken by her father flooded into her mind, and just continued to hammer themselves at her as she continued to pull at her tied up hair. Those words hurt, because she knew that it was something that she should have done. It was so obvious and simple, yet, she had let her guard down, allowing Marsha to get close enough to smash her head into the park bench before she even noticed that she was there.

 _They're probably laughing at me._ Ivy thought, tears leaking from her eyes as the mixture of agony, withdrawal, and gloomy thoughts washed over her. _The aviators. They're probably laughing at me because of what happened. Either that or they're disappointed in me because I'm a victor's daughter, and nearly got damn well killed by a retarded girl._

She really wanted something to help her escape her predicament, something sharp like a knife so that she could cut her hair. Another memory of her father's advice suddenly hit her, telling her that she should have gotten her hair cut short like Terra had by her stylist, but her prep-team and stylist thought that she looked better with her lengthy hair. At the time, Ivy hadn't cared about whether they had cut her hair or not, but she now wished that she had requested, demanded, that they had cut her hair. _'Long hair can cause complications.'_ Her father had told her, and she could see and feel it now.

She wanted a knife so badly, because no matter how hard she yanked her hair, the only thing it seemed to do was make the knot tighter and cause her pain. _Unless I rip hairs out of my head, I can't see any other way to escape._ Ivy somberly thought, hoping that some sponsor would send her a knife. They had to send her a knife if they wanted her to escape. And surly her family would send her a knife of some kind. After all, they could afford it being a victor family.

But then another thought hit her, one that she didn't want to remember. Because they were a victor family, her mom and dad weren't allowed to sponsor her. It was a stupid rule, but the Capitol deemed that it was an unfair advantage for some stupid reason. That memory only served to make her more miserable as she couldn't depend on her family sponsoring her.

The shaking of her body intensified as tears continued to flow out of her eyes. _The only people I can depend on can't help me. And the only people that can help me don't want to help me._ Ivy sadly thought as she continued to pull at her hair, seeing that only loose strands of hair were breaking from the bench, but the ones that were held together like a ponytail were holding strong. Like how a single twig was easily breakable, but when tied in a bundle, they were much harder to snap. Even so, she kept on pulling, because she knew that if another tribute or mutt came after her, she wouldn't live through it like she had last time.

 _Why did Marsha let me live?_ She wondered. _She could have easily killed me, but she left me here instead. Did she do it to humiliate me? To show how powerless I am? Just for fun because she's a sadistic bronhole elm? Why?_

She supposed it didn't really matter, but she still questioned why Marsha hadn't just outright killed her. After all, she had been knocked out long enough for her to drag her to the bench, tie her hair up, and take all her supplies. It would have been simple to murder her then and there.

Ivy, tired of tugging at her hair, let go of it, sat down as comfortably as she could, and sighed before looking at her shaking hands. They were trembling, and with the aching pains that spread through her bones, she wished that she had something to rid them out of existence. She thought of alcohol. She thought of morphine. If she had something it would make the pain go away. If she had something, it would make the sap in her eyes disappear. It would make her feel better.

 _Maybe when I escape I'll find some kind of medical facility and find some painkillers._

With that thought, Ivy started to pull her hair again with newly found determination. She pulled with all her might, wanting her hair to tear itself apart and separate her from the bench so that she could find some kind of medicine to rid her of her agony. Of both withdrawal and that she had received from Marsha. She sniffed her running nose, feeling warm and sticky due to the blood leakage.

Before she knew it, she heard the sound of large amounts of hair being torn apart. It managed to give her a smile, but she stopped smiling when pain washed through her mouth and she continued to pull.

"Hey you!" A masculine voice called out, causing Ivy to nearly jump, but the feeling of hair being torn from scalp stopped her from going too far. "What do you think you're doing here?" Ivy didn't like the sound of that voice, and turned to look behind her to see who it was.

Within the water park she saw a young man that she didn't recognize, probably not much older than herself or the other tributes, walking towards her. He wore a collared red shirt and black pants, something that she hadn't seen the other tributes ever wearing, and wondered what he was doing in the arena.

Before she could even speak, the man shouted to her again. "The park's closed, and you know what we do to trespassers?" Ivy got a very bad feeling about what was to come next, so she turned away from the man and started to yank at her hair again, wanting to get free even more than ever. "We kill them little girl! We kill them!"

Her fear soared as she yanked at her hair, hearing the sounds of hair being torn apart. The sound of salvation before the long run to freedom. _Please please please let me get free in time!_ Ivy screamed to herself as she pulled harder and harder, getting more and more free by the second. She ignored the pain in her arms from yanking so hard, she ignored the pain of what was potentially hair being ripped from her head, she only focused on getting free before that person could kill her.

Her hair was half way torn off from the bench. A third. A quarter. And as more hair got ripped the easier it became. The next yank nearly got her completely free. The next got her completely free.

Falling onto her back, Ivy felt waves of agony spread through her body before she gave out a groan. Then as quickly as she could, she scrambled to her feet and ran, only to feel the back of her head getting grabbed and being forced forwards towards the bench. Upon instinct, Ivy placed her hands over her head, and felt her arms slam through the back of the park bench. Already weakened by Marsha kicking her through it, strips of wood shattered upon impact, causing Ivy to go partway into the bench. Her arms absorbed most of the damage, but her head and face still got some of the pain as well.

She then felt herself being slide across the sitting part of the bench, and felt something sharp stab her in the left tricep. Ivy screamed before she was sliding again, and felt something stab her in the same place on her opposite arm, causing her to scream again as wildfire spread through her arms. "Damn." She heard the man mutter before she felt herself, once again, being yanked backwards and found herself sprawled onto the ground in a daze.

Shaking her head as she checked her new wounds, Ivy felt her arm, but with something protruding out of it as well. It felt bloody, and like wood. The girl looked at it, and while her vision was still a bit fuzzy, she could see that a long strip of broken timber had been plunged into both her triceps.

Ivy pulled the piece of wood from her right arm out first, and saw that the man was about to stomp on her face. Giving out a scream, Ivy moved out of the way of the foot, and felt the vibration of said stomp. Ivy then, with the piece of wood still clutched into her hand, thrust it at his leg with all her might, sending the jagged piece of park bench deep into his ankle, causing the hostile man to holler and hop on one foot as he groped his leg for the stabbing instrument.

Ivy reached for her other arm and extracted the piece of wood from her arm, feeling it roughly slide against her muscles and flesh, as the man did the same with his ankle. "You bitch!" He shouted with rage as blood poured from his ankle. "You fucking bitch!" Ivy quickly got to her feet, and felt very dizzy. At that moment, she knew that she couldn't run. All that would accomplish would be her getting caught by the man and getting killed. She had to fight back. "I was going to kill you quickly, but now-" His words were cut short by Ivy spearing him in the neck with a piece of park bench with all her might.

She had been holding the makeshift weapon with both hands, and though she wasn't as strong as she'd have liked to be, she still managed to stick it halfway into her enemy's neck, causing splinters to chip off and impale both his neck and her hands. But Ivy barely noticed the splinter's in her hands as the man gave out a look of disbelief and shock, but didn't scream.

Ivy backed away from the man as his eyes turned from shock to fear. _He's knows that he's dying._ Ivy thought before she tripped over something and landed on her butt. Pain flared through her backside, and while she gave out a loud cry of pain, she couldn't take her eyes off the man holding his neck in pure bewilderment.

He struggled to speak, sounding like he was chocking on something as a thin trickle of blood came out of his mouth. Then he pulled the overly large splinter out of his neck, and even more blood started to soon come out of his mouth as well as the neck, almost like raw syrup sap oozing out of a maple tree after drilling a hole in it. "I..." The man struggled to say before he collapsed onto the ground, blood still coming out of his mouth and neck and ankle.

Meanwhile, Ivy just stared in shock. She knew that she had to do it otherwise she would have died, but there was still only one thought running through her mind.

 _I just killed someone._

* * *

"Where'd she go?" The male shouted.

"I don't know!" The female shouted back. "I can't believe you lost her!"

"What? I lost her? I thought you said, we'll trap her in here for sure!"

"She must have turned the other way in that hall!"

"God damn it!"

The two pursuers then ran back to where they had came from, and when she could no longer hear the sounds of their footsteps, Ashton let out a sigh of relief, then began to breathe heavily as she had held her breath longer than she ever had.

Her heart was racing, feeling like it was trying to escape from her chest. She felt beads of sweat running down her face and felt warm moisture building on her chest and under her arms.

 _This is the second worst game of hide and seek I've ever played_. She thought as she remembered the time she and Fay had played hide and seek inside the justice building. The girls hadn't been allowed inside it, but they had let curiostiy get the better of them and had snuck inside, careful to avoid all the peacekeepers keeping a watch on the place. It was hard work, and had taken much longer then they thought it would, but the excitement that the two of them got out of it made them giddy.

It was a boring sight for the most part, but they did get to see the inside of the building. The only thing interesting was where they sent off reaped tributes before they departed on the train. With the most comfortable looking couch and chairs the two had ever seen, along with some fading art that had once been fabulous, the two of them then ventured deeper into the building, finding nothing but old rusted junk and a multitude of cobwebs.

And when they decided that it was finally time to get out of there, they discovered that they had gotten lost. So they had to get out of there without the peacekeepers noticing them. It had been tense, it had been scary, and it had came to be something they both deeply regretted, because, as it had turned out, the peacekeepers had known that they had been there the entire time and had been waiting for them to come out. She never did figure out how they had known, but that seemed unimportant compared to the whipping they had both gotten for breaking into government property.

So when that young man and woman in the red collared shirts came chasing after her with the promises of death, she ran. She ran like she was being chased by the peacekeepers. She did not want to get caught, and she most certainly did not want to die.

When she saw the building, she thought that she could hide somewhere inside it. The two chasers thought they could trap her in the building. And that was true to an extent, as she knew that she didn't want to chance running into them again. She was going to wait until she was sure that they had given up on her, and then she'd get out of the ceiling she was in.

She had been glad that she had noticed that the ceiling within the building had been like that inside the justice building. Weak, foam like tiles that came off with a punch and could easily be put back in place, it seemed like the perfect place to hide if they didn't look in that area. And to her relief, they hadn't check the ceiling, and she didn't know what she'd have done if they had. She probably would have ran, as she saw no option other than that. She wasn't strong, nor was she a good fighter. And against two people at once she stood no chance.

Still, she did wonder what other people were doing in the arena.

Then she remembered that the only people that would be inside the arena were the tributes, and those two were no tributes. That only left one other thing. Mutts. They were mutts. Mutts that seemed uncannily human, but were still mutts. _If the aviators wanted the arena to make us even more unsettled, they've succeed._ Ashton thought before she wondered if she should check the room she was in for supplies. She worried that the two mutts were still in the room and were just keeping quiet, but she knew that sooner or later, she'd have to come out for supplies as well. _What do I have anyway? One less than meager meal, a bottle of water, cigarettes for Ryan if I find him, and a switchblade. Useful to defend myself if needed, but more than anything else, I'll probably only scare people with it. Hopefully that's enough though._

Ashton knew that if someone got close to her she'd only get one chance to injure them, otherwise it was all over for her. They get in too close and she was basically powerless, even with the bladed weapon. They'd overpower her, take her knife, and stab her with it. Which is why she needed to be careful. Needed to be stealthy more than anything else.

Making her decision, Ashton slowly, carefully, lifted up the foam like tile the bare minimum it needed to be for her to see out of the ceiling, and peeked out. She saw nothing but a whole lot of white. No hostile colours or red or black to be seeing.

Ashton opened the ceiling opening a little bit more, and still saw nothing of concern. A little bit more, and still nothing.

Ashton, feeling like she could open it up all the way, did so slowly and quietly before she slipped out of the ceiling and onto a cart full of soft pillows, towels, and blankets.

Ashton, still laying in the cart of things, took her first good glance at the room, and saw that everything in the damn place was white. The shelves were white, as were the neatly stacked pillows, sheets, and towels. She looked at the cart, and saw that that itself was white as well. _Only things here that are not white is my hair and my eyes._ Ashton thought before she grabbed a pillow and tossed it through the hole in the ceiling. _For comfort when sleeping._

She then grabbed several towels and blanket sheets and tossed them up as well. _Also for sleeping, but can be used for bandages if needed._

She then climbed back into the ceiling and fitting the ceiling tile back in place before she neatly placed the white materials into her black canvass bag. _Honestly, I'm surprised I managed to get this thing and myself in here in time._ She thought, remembering that she had barely gotten the ceiling tile back in place when the two came bursting into the room.

She had been scared that they would have looked up and seen the mark her fist had made in the tile. Or that she had kicked a pile of towels out of place, or seen something else that would have revealed her position.

Looking at the room filled with towels and blankets, she wondered what kind of place she was in. Sure she had seen the food stands and the giant metal wheel along with a train attached to winding tracks, guessing that it was some kind of Capitol fun time place or something. _Wonder if this building is something the aviators find fun as well_. Ashton thought as she placed the duffle bag over her back and began slowly, and as quietly as she could, crawl through the ceiling and see what kind of building she had ran into and if they had other supplies for the taking.

After all, if she managed to find all those items she now had in her position, she wondered what else there was in the building.

Her nerves told her not to venture further into the building, and she wanted to listen to them. The thought of encountering those mutts again, or running into another tribute besides Ryan made her nervous. But she also told herself that if she didn't get the supplies now, she'd be in trouble. Hypersomnia didn't care where you were, or what you were doing, and when she woke from her nap, the arena would be much more dangerous. She needed to find the supplies now before it was too late.

Ahead of her, Ashton saw a shadow moving, and expecting the worst, she gave out a shriek, back peddled as quickly as she could, and withdrew her switchblade and popped the blade out with a snap. Holding the knife in a defensive position, Ashton waiting for the tribute or mutt that had found itself in the ceiling with her as she did her best to hold the weapon steady in her hand.

 _Don't come closer!_ Ashton begged. _Please don't come closer!_

She was sure that if they couldn't hear her racing heart, her scream would have told them where she was.

She waited for them. And waited some more. Not hearing anything other than her own beating heart.

With slow movements, Ashton moved forward and hoped that the thing had ran away. But when she saw the shadow moving again, she backed away. The shadow did the same thing. Ashton then held out her knife hand, and saw the shadow holding out an arm as well, holding a handheld blade like thing as well.

Ashton then realized that she had been startled by her own shadow! _Well how pathetic is that?_ Ashton told herself before she started to move again. _Getting scared by my own shadow. What am I? Four? Hopefully nobody heard that._

With that thought, she moved a little bit faster.

* * *

Bizarre.

The entire thing was bizarre in her eyes. She guessed that she was at the edge of the arena, and yet, she couldn't see the forcefield that would normally surround the outside of the arena. She had seen the fuzz of the barrier around the gamemakers during the private sessions, and she had seen it around them during their training days, but she couldn't see it here. Instead, all she saw were rows and rows of coiled up razor wire attached to wooden poles.

 _Maybe the barrier isn't here due to past incidents_. Dayta thought as she looked at the field of razor wire that made it impossible to escape by foot. She knew that while there wasn't a barrier, the amounts of razor wire in front of her would slice her to ribbons if she dared to escape in her current state.

 _Maybe the barrier is here because of what happened during the second quarter quell, and the other previous games where tributes tried to take advantage of the barrier._ And while she could see why it would make sense for the gamemakers to get rid of it, she could see flaws in the system when it came to removing the barrier. For one thing, if the tributes were to find some way to get past the razor wire, the gamemakers had to have some way to stop them from making it too far. She guessed that the mutts would be sent in to stop them. And where would the tributes go? She didn't know where she was, and she didn't know the way back to District Three.

And even if she did know where District Three was from the arena, she didn't think she'd be able to survive the long trip back. And if she did make it back to District Three, everyone in the Capitol would be out looking for her. So going home was not an option. And that was assuming that she could deactivate the tracking devices that had been implanted inside of them.

But what if something bigger happened. What if for some reason, the M-Jays managed to get a hovercraft to the arena and tried to extract tributes by the air? Maybe they had some kind of anti-air defense?

She supposed it didn't really matter, as the gamemakers weren't so stupid as to not have thought of plans for such occasions. _Besides, it's not like I have any plans to help me escape anyway._

Dayta turned away from the field of razor wire and faced the arena once again. A place filled with empty food and game stands. _Fun and games_. Dayta thought. _If I were an aviator I'd probably think of this place as a place for fun and games. I'm not though. And for the aviators, even though they aren't here, they still think this is a fun place. A fun place to watch us suffer._

And what a fun time Dayta was having suffering. Getting lost in a maze of stands filled with empty promises and the threat of death everywhere. Every stand that she looked in had nothing to offer. But then there were the bigger buildings. The ones that weren't just stands and stood out among them.

Dayta checked one of them out, and was greeted with open roofed train carts and the oval track they were placed on that went up and down. It didn't offer much other than a good time and a lot of noise if she had gotten it to work somehow. So she went off, exploring the arena some more, hoping that she'd meet up with her bronhole allies or find some supplies in another type of building. A building that was deliberately made to look different than the rest so that it would attract tributes to each other.

Dayta was scared that the next place she went to would be holding another tribute, but upon slowly, and fearfully, entering the building, she couldn't see or hear anyone inside. Still, she didn't let her guard down, knowing that another tribute or a mutt might be waiting for her around the corner.

Inside the building, the first place she had noticed was that it looked like the entrance to a factory or some other kind of government building. A reception room with rows of chairs that lead to three different area. The first two paths lead to a maze of empty cages, but behind door number three was something like an office room.

The office room consisted of rows of computer monitors, a desk, a fridge, and a waste basket. It was simple, it was bare, and it reminded Dayta of her office back in District Three, except her office only had one computer monitor and had a picture of her family on her desk. She had found a couple bottles of water and a couple packages of food inside the fridge, and was happy to have found them before some other tribute. And inside the desk was a steel cased lighter, something she was sure that Thor and Terra would need since the duffle bags didn't come with lighters or matches for the cigarettes. That, and it had other uses as well.

Dayta had tried to check the computers to see if there was anything of interest on them, but the power didn't work and she didn't want to stay any long than she had to. At least, not without her allies. So she placed the food, water, and lighter into her duffle bag and explored the empty cage area.

Looking around the empty place was eerie, and she either guessed that it was a place to keep prisoners or animals judging from the looks of things as she walked down the paths. _Either the mutts are animals, like they are most of the time, or their escaped prisoners_. She guessed that they were more likely animals since the arena had a theme for fun.

Near the back she had discovered a second room, which also contained a desk and a couple of computer monitors, but behind that were more cages. Not as large as the ones outside of that office space, but big enough for most animals smaller than a human.

She found a few interesting items. One was a dark brown stenton hat hanging over the corner of one of the computer monitors, another was of metal masks that looked like they hooked onto the muzzles of animals, and another was of two pails that contained light green powder.

Not knowing what the green powder was since the pails were white and unmarked and not seeing the use of a stenton hat, Dayta took the animal muzzles knowing that if the mutts were indeed animals, they could come in handy.

Dayta had yet to run into any mutts, but she knew she would eventually.

Patting her duffle bag, she remembered what it now contained in addition to the single pack of food, water bottle, and sixteen cigarettes due to her throwing out four of them to make four rows of four.

They contained three water bottles, three packs of food, sixteen cigarettes, a lighter, and eight animal muzzles, and she could feel the weight of all that. She wished that she had an even four water bottles and packs of food as it would have made her feel better. And then there was the other thing that the gamemakers had given her.

Looking in her right hand, Dayta saw the bulky black rectangle with two copper prongs on each side of the front of the box like object. It was something that she had seen only in the hands of the peacekeepers, and it was something they used to quell uncooperative and combative citizens.

Flicking the side switch, Dayta watched the dazzling sight of blue lighting dancing between the taser's copper prongs. Not enough to short circuit someone on it's own, but more than enough to stun them.

Flicking the side switch and killing the lightning, Dayta hitched her duffle back up her shoulders once again and set off to explore the arena once again for her allies and for more supplies, hoping that she wouldn't run into anyone or anything dangerous before she meet up with at least one of her allies.

* * *

Back home, one of her favorite activities was catching rabbits.

It was hard work and often needed someone with dedication and patience in order to actually catch one of the bastards, but the reward was well worth it in her opinion. Because of the breeding problem in some parts of District Ten, many people would create traps or try to capture them by hand. It didn't seem to help in the long run as those sex maniacs seemed to multiply at a ferocious rate. Still, it made good game that often left you with some more food on your table if you knew what you were doing. That, and the other families hated when they ate the food in the barns and made the dogs bark like crazy.

They were the bane of District Ten's existence thanks to them eating the other animal's food and being a nuisance in general. So much so that she had often seen peacekeepers yelling and swearing at the rabbits that had made it past their guard dogs and find themselves in their base of operations. And on more than one occasion, she had seen enraged peacekeepers fire their guns at them.

Mink didn't know how the rabbits could multiply so much and be nearly as bad as rats, but if there was one thing they were good for it was the extra meat that they offered if they weren't tainted with poison.

She remembered her and her friends running, waiting, and grabbing the rabbits and slaughtering them for their meat during their dog days. Or was it Mink's friends? Mink didn't know, but she knew that she herself had enjoyed it. To a point, as she normally set traps and left the scene to do something else, but she did enjoy chasing after them in the fields.

And looking at who was in front of her, fixing a Capitol made machine that dispensed ice, Mink couldn't help but think of him as a rabbit that she and her friends hunted.

Blissfully unaware of his doom and only served to help her.

Mink thought of the building that she was in, and thought that it would be a perfect place to reside in. It was a slightly wide, two level building with multiple, identical rooms beside each other. It contained machines that spat out ice and had hide a cache of food in one of the back rooms, and she guessed that there were more inside the building.

She couldn't let him find any of them, so she needed him out of the building and out of her life. But he had been fixing the ice machine since she had arrived, so she'd let him do that before she drove him out _. No way I'm going back and searching all those empty stands and hope that I find something._ She thought, remembering the disappointment she had gotten by searching those stands. And the anger she had received as she found more and more of the stands empty _. I've found something something that'll help me stay alive. Something that'll help me win, and I'm not looking after anyone, so why should I let them take it from me? It's not like he'd share it with me._

Looking at her improvised weapon, a simple trash can lid, it wasn't the best thing to use, but she thought that it was acceptable as it was light and could be used as a shield if necessary. _Besides, with enough hits I'm sure it'll flatten his face enough that his nose sinks into her brain._

And then there was the weapons that the Capitol had given her. Taking a look at the duel bandoliers that hung from her shoulders and crossed over her chest, she smiled, thinking of the power of those small red cylinders held between the leather. At first she had thought they were useless since she didn't have anything to ignite them with, but as soon as she had found a box of matches and fired one off, she had discovered that they were practically a weapon of mass destruction. Among arena standards of course.

 _Bash his head in, weaken him, stun him, then maybe shove one of the red explosives into his mouth and turn his head into macabre wall decorations. Easy._

So she waited. And waited. And waited.

She hated the waiting. She kept on telling herself that the wait would be worth it, but she was having trouble waiting for Spark to finish with the ice machine so that she could have refillable water!

Mink wanted to scream, but she held her tongue. That is, until she heard the sound of a machine start to whirl and the sound of ice cubes hit the carpet.

"Yes." Spark said outside of the room Mink had been hiding in. _FINALLY!_ Mink exclaimed to herself before she ran out of the room and gave out a war cry. She saw Spark snap his head towards her, and saw the look of genuine surprise quickly turn into a look of fear.

Mink knew that she wasn't an intimidating figure since she looked like someone that looked thirteen or fourteen and was only five feet tall, so she did something that she hoped would help her. With a pillow sack over her head with the bottom part cut just below her neck, the cut off part of the pillow sack tied around her neck like a ribbon, and two holes for her eyes to see through, she hoped to look more menacing. They eye holes were bigger than she'd have liked them to be, but they needed to be that large in order for her to see properly.

It seemed to work, as Spark hadn't moved until Mink slammed the trash can lid across his face with all her strength. It caused Spark to give out a cry of pain before he staggered to her left and hit the wall. Mink, cursing her height disadvantage, did her best to repeatedly hit him in the face with her garbage lid, and got in a few good hits despite Spark blocking the blows with his arms before she started to repeatedly hit him in his stomach.

Spark might have been able to have the stamina to keep up with Anna, but Mink was a strong farmer girl, and with Spark's thin torso, it was no problem for her to get him clutching his gut and make him breathless.

Spark bent over, trying his best to get air back into his lungs an instant before Mink started to relentlessly bash him over the head with the trash can lid. "Stop! Stop!" Spark begged as his arms were getting battered due to defending his head. "I'll give you whatever you want!" Mink didn't stop though, and Spark was getting closer and closer to the ground in a futile attempt to get away from the attacks.

Mink found that she couldn't attack his head with her trash lid, so she kicked him in the face. Her foot connected with Spark's chin with a cry of pain before she began to kick him in the chest. Once. Twice. Three times. A fourth time. She was going for a fifth, but Spark moved out of the way, and her foot connected with the wall instead, sending a wave of pain rippling through her foot. Mink halted her assault for a moment to hiss in pain before she felt something kick her in her right calf, the one that was still suspended in the air, and felt the kick force her to lose her balance and fall. She felt the back of her head slam into the wall behind her before she slide down said wall. Her sight briefly turned into a blur of black and grey before returning back to normal, but with red dots inside.

She groaned, shook her head and rubbed the back of it for a moment before turning her sights back towards Spark. Just in time to gasp and see a weapon that looked like a hand held bear trap being swung towards her. Mink rolled out of the way as the weapon slashed the wall and marked it up like a fucking bear claw attack. _What in the fuck is that!_ Mink wondered, not wanting to get hit by that.

Mink then decided to go with a different plan, and ran down the hall. She heard Spark chase after her, so she ran into one of the rooms and closed the door behind her, and used the flimsy chain lock, knowing that she couldn't outrun Spark. But the plan wasn't to retreat. No. She had the ice machine working, and there was that cache of food as well, and there was no way that she was going to leave that behind.

As quick as her hands would travel as she pressed her body against the door, she pulled out a red cylinder from her bandoliers and the box of matches. She opened the match box and pulled a single match out just as Spark tried to open the door. Mink tried to ignite the match, but Spark slammed his body against the door, knocking Mink forward and scattering her box of matches to the floor. Mink cursed, but knew that she only needed one match for now.

As swiftly as she could, she struck the match against the ignition strip and saw the red tip get engulfed with an orange flame. "Think you can just get away with that? Attack me then run?" She heard the sounds of Spark kicking the door, but that didn't concern her much. She lit the green fuse in the center of the red explosive, and watched as it started to sizzle violently, sending golden sparks flying every which way. She then threw the explosive into the center of the room before she opened the door, allowing Spark to send the door flying open as the flimsy chain seperated from the door.

Mink then grabbed Spark by his black jacket and threw him into the room before she slammed the door shut behind her, dived to the ground, and covered her ears.

 _Any second now._ Mink thought before a thundering boom occurred and rocked the entire building. _Never knew that the Capitol liked to make explosive flares._ Mink thought as she looked at her red explosive cylinders which advertised themselves as M-80 salutes.

Mink then got to her feet, and ran to the room Spark had been in, expecting to see bits of Spark painting the walls. Instead, she saw everything but. There was a black scorch mark where the explosive had detonated, the windows had been blown out, and everything lighter than a telivision set had been moved out of place thanks to the shock wave. But there was no blood or gore to be seen within the room. _Where the hell is Spark?_ Mink asked herself in pure bewilderment before she checked under the bed. Nothing.

She ran over to the only closet in the room. Nothing. _The fuck?_ She then looked at the blown out windows. _No. No fucking way._ She ran to the windows and looked around, to see Spark descending down the window curtain, leaving a long red streak on the otherwise white drapes.

Spark had been cut to hell and was bleeding at the face and hands from what she could see. Some shards of glass had been driven into his clothes and some were resting in his hair.

"You've got to be kidding me." Mink muttered as she saw Spark let go of the window drapes and plummet the few remaining feet to the ground, causing him to land on the ground sprawled out and give out a scream of agony.

Mink gave out a quick growl and kick to the wall before she spun on her heels and desperately searched for a match among the mess. She found one, and quickly withdrew a second M-80, struck the match, and lit the explosive.

She ran back to the window and saw Spark fleeing the scene. Mink threw the explosive at him, but found that it traveled too far to the left, and when it blew, it only sent him falling to the ground once again before he was off running again. "Fuck!" Mink cried out before she turned around and stormed out of the room _. He might be back! He'll be expecting me to be here! And he knows that this is a place worth defending! He might not be back soon, but he'll be back! And then there's the other tributes! Fuck! If I had killed him, the others would know not to cross me! I was supposed to ride Spark, but now I'm his pony! I'm everyone's pony now!_

Mink kicked the wall out of anger, but the pain that shot through her foot only made her more mad. Shooting up a storm of swears until she felt better, Mink checked out the ice machine Spark had been working on, knowing that at least she had a water supply.

She pushed the metal lever, just like she had done back in the Capitol, and heard the machine start to whirl before a total of three ice cubs spilled out.

Confused, Mink released the lever and pressed it again, hearing the machine whirl, but not produce any more ice. The thing was still broken. Spark hadn't fixed it completely, she was going to have to continue his work! "You stupid slew!" Mink shouted before she punched the machine, causing pain to course through her fist.

 **A/N: I haven't been feeling all that well for a while, so I'm trying to take advantage of the good mood I'm in.**

 **Sorry that there have been fights that haven't lead to death, but, whatever.**

 **So this chapter stared some of the girls. The next chapter will star some of the boys.**


	35. Fired Up

_Watching the vile, acidic yellow-orange concoction cascade from his mouth and splash into the cold porcine sink, thirteen year old Spark Gambel, felt guilty. And disgusted as he thought of what he was doing._

There are people, dims, within the district that are fighting for food to put inside themselves, and here I am pucking it out. Wasting it. _The thought was strong enough to make Spark vomit again, sending another steady stream of yellowish orange substances from his mouth. The vomit burned as it slide through his throat and out his mouth, leaving behind an awful taste in his mouth._

 _The nutrition and food that most of the district fought for, Spark had been willingly giving up in order to become like them. A thin figure that wouldn't be mocked and made fun of because of his body size and social status. He didn't like the comments that had been thrown his way, he didn't like the way that most of the district kids would avoid him like some sort of personified sickness. He didn't like the way that his lightning rod district status and wealth made him feel._

 _He just wanted to fit in with the kids at school. He wanted to be accepted and not have to face the prejudice of the dims because he was a neon. To be made fun of because he was able to become fat while they starved and struggled to survive._

 _To say that those that were able to become fat, or just those that were neons in general, were disliked among the dims was an understatement. Neons would sometimes get assaulted by dims so that they could steal anything that they had on them. Cash, food, whatever they had on them, the dims stole. And sometimes they did it just for fun. Sometimes the dims attacked neons because they were angry at something, and what better way to express that anger than to attack those that had what you didn't? What better target did you have than a neon? Who better to blame than a neon?_

 _To the dims, neons were the zap chains to their suffering. They were easy to blame because of their social status, because if things were going wrong with the lower class, it was easy to shift the blame to the neons. It was always easy to blame the neons for their troubles._

 _That's why neons were expected to carry around weapons to defend themselves with. And why they usually stuck together. So that when the dims attacked, they'd be able to even the odds. Because the dims regularly attacked in groups._

 _Spark still remembered when a group of dims had attacked his friend, Watt, and stripped him of the petty amount of coins he had been carrying. But they hadn't stopped there. No. They had also stripped him of his clothes and shoes as well, forcing him to walk home naked and beaten._

 _Life was brutal for both sides, as one struggled to survive, and another had to live with the consequences of living a life where you had enough to survive. Each side zap chained each other so much._

And where do you stand? _Spark asked himself as he looked in the mirror._ You're a neon that looks like a dim. You're a neon that doesn't like other neons. Yet the dims don't like you. Not even when you look like them, because they know that you're not really a dim.

 _With a scrawny body that looked like it had had the life sucked out of it, Spark barely recognized the face in front of him. It looked unhealthy, and empty._

 _"Why?" Spark asked as tears ran from his eyes. "Why don't they accept me?"_

 _He already knew though. It was the simple fact that he was a neon, and they weren't._

* * *

 _Where was the conductor of my greatest failure?_

That was what Spark asked himself as he tried to re-call when he had started to try and become more like a dim than a neon. _How old was I? Twelve? When I started to purge myself of food and started to waste energy running around and doing pushups and the such? Or maybe it was sooner. Maybe it was when I started to think about doing all that. Maybe it was when I started to let the harsh words of preconception get to me._

As Spark tore his undershirt apart with his generator set of teeth, he thought of how his previously pudgy body might have been better for him as it would have provided him a little more protection against the glass window he had been forced to jump out of.

 _Because of this skinny body, an artery or something is more exposed to being slashed_. He reasoned that no arteries had been sliced open due to how he was still able to stay awake and move, but agony was washing over his head, face, arms, and back, due to the glass cutting him all to hell. And then there was the blood. If there was anything that seemed to cover nearly all the places that hurt on his body, it was the blood that was steadily working its way out of his wounds.

If someone were to walk in on him hiding in one of the empty game stands, they would have guessed that he had tried to kill someone instead of the other way around. _Either that or they'll actually think I killed someone and that this isn't my blood._

After tearing his undershirt into rags, Spark coiled them around what he guessed were his worst wounds, taking great care of cover up as many of them as possible and tied them tight in an attempt to stop, or at least slow, the bleeding. He made sure to wrap his head wounds first before moving onto his arms. And even with his entire undershirt torn up and used as makeshift bandages, he didn't have enough to cover all the cuts he had received. He didn't even attempted to bandage his back as he wasn't even sure he could place them in the right place. Still, he was sure that it was better than nothing, and the worst had been taken care of.

 _Got to find a first aid kit_. Spark thought. _Who knows if these wounds are going to get infected or not. If I don't find one soon, I'll be forced to use my jacket as bandages_. He hoped that it wouldn't come to that, but if push came to shove, he'd do it. Losing a jacket and having to embrace the elements would be much better than dying a slow and horrible death, though it wouldn't do anything for infections. And he doubted that the aviators would be so kind as to send him disinfectant due to him not being able to beat someone shorter than himself.

 _Who was that anyway?_ Spark wondered, thinking of his attacker. _They punch hard and wore a white hood. Not only that, but the gamemakers gave them explosives. That's not fair! Not only that, but now they've got a source of water and my bag of supplies as well. Now all I've got is my assigned weapon._

Spark pulled the weapon out of his mouth and looked at it with a sense of distaste. It was strong, metal, and had many sharp points along the upper and lower levels like a couple of serrated knives. Easily able to tear through fabric and able to puncture holes in wood, it was a powerful weapon as a handheld device, but an even more powerful one inside someone's mouth. Spark knew that if he used it right, he'd be able to tear someone's throat out with ease, despite his rotting teeth.

Yet, he hated it because of what it was. A set of sharp pointed generator teeth. _The gamemakers have a real sick sense of humor if they deliberately wanted me to have this_. And he had freely expressed his opinion to the gamemakers the second he had discovered what they were. _Giving an anorexic super strong teeth to make everything seem like food? It's got to be some kind of sick joke._

Spark sighed as he thought of how such a weapon could dig into someone's arm and slash ravines into their flesh as a handheld weapon. Or if it was placed into his mouth, he could bite someone's arm and, with enough pressure, shatter their bones before ripping out the fragments.

 _I could have slashed half their face off._ Spark told himself, thinking of his fight back in that building he had narrowly escaped death from. _But I hesitated. I didn't want to hurt them that much, let alone kill them. Look where that got me._

It was a foolish mistake and he knew it. He had known that the second he had hesitated, because his attacker had not had the same amount of compassion as him. They had been ruthless and had tried to kill him with an explosive. And before that, they had tried to bash his brains out with a trash can lid right after had had fixed that ice machine.

They had shown him no mercy, so he couldn't show the other tributes mercy either. It was life or death inside the arena, and in order for him to have life, he needed to make the other tributes face death.

 _I don't know who they were, but if I had encountered a bronhole instead, I know I'd be dead right now._

Placing his synthetic set of serrated steel teeth back inside his mouth, he stood up with a loud groan. His body protested heavily against him moving as pain flared through what felt like his entire body. He had jumped through a closed window, and only managed to just barely avoid shattering his legs by grabbing a window drape. Still, the fall was high enough that he had thought they had shattered at first. He wondered if all that running through the district had made his legs strong enough to endure that fall and allow him to escape.

 _Wish I had my duffle bag._ Spark thought as he looked at his palms, which were now wrapped with cloth to try and stop the bleeding that was occurring there. _Because in addition to looking for a medical kit, I need to now look for my next meal and get some water. Fast. Hell, even pouring some fucking water on these wounds would have helped them a little._

Spark felt woozy, and he chalked it up to blood loss. Still, he couldn't just sit down and do nothing, he had to look for supplies. He had rested long enough, and even though he just wanted to sit down and rest some more, he knew that time was not on his side. Not with all his cuts and the lack of supplies. _Just hope I don't run into anyone._ Spark thought as he climbed over the game stand _. I thought I'd be glad to not have a bloodbath. But if tributes are getting explosives assigned to them, then I really wish there had been a bloodbath. Maybe I could have gotten some. And maybe I'd have food and water with me as well, instead of having to look through empty stands._

* * *

He wished he could smell what he was cooking.

The ability to smell came and went whenever it felt like it, and that annoyed him more than it irritated him as there were things that he'd want to smell and lacked the ability to do so. And then there were the times where he wished that his sense of smell would disappear entirely.

 _Probably smells delicious._ Nick thought as he looked at the pale yellow goo covered bread in the frying pan while a batch of potato wedges were bathing inside a pot of hot cooking oil.

He was glad that he had found a food stand that actually had food in it. He had gotten tired of looking inside food stands, only to discover that they were empty. It was an even bigger annoyance to see a food stand that was locked down like it contained something that someone didn't want another person to get, only to discover that he had wasted even more time opening a locked up food stand.

Nick had been wandering the arena, looking for a place to settle down, a place to call his own where he could hide and rest when he needed to. Somewhere where he wouldn't be found easily, but if it also happened to be comfortable and warm, so much the better.

Nick didn't like that the sky was always dark, like the sun had just finished setting or was just shy of rising. It made it hard to tell what the proper time was or how long you had been awake for. Though he predicated that he wouldn't be sleeping for a long while. And if he did decide to fall asleep, it would be when his body deemed it necessary rather than a set time like back in District Three.

Earlier he had found a promising building near a winding train set and an even bigger wheel that didn't project itself out too much, but it had solid protection measures such as barred and reflective windows. He wanted the place, but dismissed it when he only found one entrance that wasn't barred up and found the door locked. Reasoning that someone else had found it before him and was inside it, Nick turned away and continued his search, finding nothing but more empty promises.

He was pretty sure he had seen Paige running about, but before he could get close enough to see if it was her or not, he had lost her. He didn't consider it a big loss however, as he had found this slice of goodness. Instead of taking someone else's supplies and getting one less than meager meal and a half liter of water, he found a stock of food and water.

 _It looked like every other locked up food stand, but then I noticed that there was an electrical box hidden on the side. Glad I actually saw it instead of passing by it, otherwise I'd have thought this was just another empty stand to take a chance on._

After fixing the electrical box by reattaching some wires and flipping a few switches, Nick had lit up the place with fluorescent lights. But to his displeasure, the lights were bright and shone like a dazzling beacon.

Worried that the lights would attract unwanted attention, Nick found the task of finding out how to keep the electricity on while keeping the lights off harder than getting the place up and running. A part of the struggle was due to there not being any light switches within the stand.

He managed to find the right connections within the electrical box before ripping out the unneeded wires to give the illusion that the food stand was just like every other one _. And when I leave, it'll be like every other one._ Nick didn't have any intention of letting other tributes cook in the stand, nor was he willing to let them have any of the food and water he had found. His plan was to recover a little with some cooked food before packing up and leaving. But not before he destroyed the electrical box beyond repair.

 _Maybe I'll just destroy the whole damn thing and watch it go up in smoke._ As much as he'd have liked to watch that happen, he didn't want to waste any more supplies than was necessary. That, and he knew that the glow of a burning building would attract tributes like humanoid programs of curiosity.

With a cigarette still dangling from his mouth, Nick saw that one side of the gooey bread was finished before grabbing the handle of the frying pan, and with practiced motion, got the two pieces of bread to flip over perfectly. Almost.

One slice landed where he wanted it to, but the other landed outside of the pan and directly on the hot stove, giving out a sharp hissing noise.

Rolling his eyes, and sighing, Nick grabbed the half cooked bread almost without a care with his ring finger taking the bottom and his thumb touching the top of the bread. His bare flesh touched the hot metal, but didn't feel any kind of pain, and placed the uncooked side of the bread onto the frying pan.

He could almost hear his mother scolding him for doing such a dangerous action. An action that would have made other people cry out in pain and run for water due to being burned. Nick however, didn't feel the pain because the nerves had been destroyed thanks to his third degree burns.

 _Wish the gamemakers would have left my gloves on._ Nick thought as he looked at his right hand, seeing that nearly the entirely of his hand was black, red, and disturbing except for his index finger, thumb, and a tiny portion of the flesh between and around those two fingers. _There's a reason I don't willingly show the world my burns._ Even with the heat inside the stand due to his cooking in a closed of building, Nick still wore his grey hood over his head and wouldn't have cared if he were wearing gloves as he was being broadcasted throughout the nation.

There was a single camera inside of the stand with him and he could have easily turned it away from him, but he didn't bother.

He also hated the thought of hearing his mom, but he figured that if he remembered her voice and remembered what she looked like, then she wasn't completely lost. Though he would have much more preferred to see her rather than remember her.

Feeling frustrated with himself, Nick spat out the burning cigarette and watched the glowing end burn for as long as it could before it finally ceased to exist, only leaving a final trail of grey smoke in it's wake.

Nick felt a little better, but not by much, before he realized that his fried toast and deep fried potato wedges were finished.

Sliding the toast onto a plate and placing it on the side, Nick grabbed the colander holding the sliced potatoes and pulled it out of the hot grease. Shaking as much of the hot oil off the vegetables as he deemed necessary, Nick set them beside the fried bread. He then choose to sit on the counter to his left rather than his right before he started to eat his meal.

He didn't enjoy it as much as he'd have liked to thanks to memories of the past.

* * *

There was a smell in the air.

A strange one at that. Because while there was a smell that radiated peace and comfort, there was another that was anything but. It was foul and violent. And with the two combinations so close together, it confused Carver.

Crouching as low as his massive frame would allow him, he slowly, cautiously, and stealthily, went towards the odd smell in a mixture of curiosity and a sense of purpose.

As he got closer, he could make out the faint smell of something being cooked. That, he guessed, was what the peace and comfort smell was. But there was another odor that was stronger, and much less pleasant. The smell of burning poison. The smell of nicotine. It was a smell that associated itself among some of the workers in the forests, but Carver himself had never been a fan of the deadly substance. He knew that he'd never be friends with it, but that didn't stop him from being able to smell it off the grown men and women that regularly consumed it.

But even though the stench of smoke was strong, the smell of food was the one thing that Carver was thinking about. _There's food in there. And someone is inside that food stand cooking it._

He figured that the tribute inside the food stand thought that others wouldn't be able to smell it if all the doors and windows were closed, but he knew that the stands had to have some kind of ventilation system. If they didn't, the inside of the stand would turn into a sweltering hot box, much like some of the work stations and out houses in District Seven. And judging from the way that everything was, he was sure that there was a vent somewhere. Or at least something to let air through.

Carver smiled as he thought of what he was going to get out of the situation. A supply of food, another weapon maybe, and if things really went his way, have sponsors go crazy for him.

Thinking back to that red shirted woman, the one that had tried to evict him from the arena by killing him, he knew that the tribute inside that food stand was going to turn out like that girl. Dead. Dead with their head caved in.

The weapon that the gamemakers had giving him inside that duffle bag had proven to be a very effective weapon in his hands. Due to it's compact and durable design, Carver could see why it was a favorite among the peacekeepers. When they started swinging at you with it, you ran because you knew that it was going to hurt like hell if it connected.

With the ability to crack open skulls and break bones if given enough force. And if there was one thing that he knew he had enough of, it was strength. And he didn't need to see the red shirted girl's head cave in to know what he was capable of.

In the arena, his strength was unmatched, and with a weapon like this, it wouldn't take long for him to finish off his enemies. Still, he'd have much preferred an ax or hatchet, but then again, he couldn't find too many things wrong with the chrome baton he was holding in one of his massive hands. The blood of the mutt was still on it, shining in the over head street light just meters away from him, it made him feel like the king of the arena. The king of this land of jungle law.

So why did he feel so nervous? Why was there trembling in his hands that wouldn't stop? Why was his heart racing in his chest? Why was he sweating like he was a water courier on a sweltering hot day? And why did if feel as if his head was going to split open due to the crushing pressure? Why did it feel as if there was a wildfire inside his gut that made him want to vomit so badly? And then there were his thoughts. They didn't seem right. They seemed slowed, confused, and off.

Carver worried for a brief second as his vision momently became blurred before returning back to normal.

 _It's just nerves_. Carver told himself as he wiped the sweat off his forehead and undid a couple of buttons on his green and black quilted flannel jacket. _Come on Carver, don't be nervous. You've got this. You've got this fucking game in the bag. Remember back home when you scared away the elms picking on your siblings? Yeah. The poor bitch or bastard that's inside that stand will be feeling the same way when you bust down the door and beat them over the head with the baton and send their brains flying._

Taking deep breaths in and out, Carver hoped to calm his nerves. It didn't do much to stop the sweating or relive the pressure from his head, or quell the fire in his gut, but it did help the rest of him. If only a little. Sure his hands were still shaking and his heart was still racing, but he thought of it was anticipation more than fear. Or withdrawal _. Don't even think about withdrawal. All you've got is a hangover. That's all. Focus on the task at hand. Find tributes, kill them, gain sponsor gifts. If there's a bronhole in there and you murder them, they'll be literally trampling over each other to sponsor you. Hell, kill a bronhole and they'll send you a mother fucking battle ax! You'll be invincible then!_

The giant smiled at that thought and hoped that Thor was inside so that he could pay him back for for calling him a coward and a sheep back in the Capitol. _If I find you Thor, I'll show you who's really the sheep and who's really the big bad fucking wolf._

With that, Carver quietly approached the door, ready to break some skulls.

* * *

Sitting on the counter as he ate fried toast and fried potato wedges as he thought of home, the last thing Nick expected was for something to kick open the food stand door like it was nothing. Locking the door had been useless, and Nick had not expected someone to breach the stand that easily.

"Christ!" Nick managed to scream in fright as the hulking mass of a monster barreled towards him at top speed with something in it's hand. A short length club? Still in shock, Nick hesitated to move for a second. That one second was all Carver needed in order to slam his entire mass into Nick, causing the smaller boy to fly back and slam into the wall a short distance behind him.

Dazed, and more than a little bewildered due to the sudden break in, Nick was defenseless against the incoming blows Carver threw at him. All he managed to give out was a groan before he felt something solid strike him in the side of the left side of his forehead. His vision went grey for a bit longer than a few seconds as he turned his body away to avoid that from happening again.

Whatever he had been hit with hurt like a mother fucker. The pain was beyond almost anything Nick had physically experienced, and his mind wondered if his head had been dented.

He felt the searing pain of an open laceration and hot blood oozing out of said wound an instant before he felt something start hitting his chest with seemingly equal bone crushing force.

It was painful, but he knew that without the wooden cutting board tapped around his chest, things would have been a lot worse. The powerful vibrations radiating through the cutting board told Nick that even with the makeshift armor, if he didn't do something soon, he'd end up with a collapsed rib cage.

Not wanting a collapsed rib cage in the slightest, Nick kicked at his attacker with all his might, missing the first time and hitting the side wall. The second time he hit his mark, connecting with his attacker's stomach. And while it didn't make them back up, it had put their assault on pause. Nick, taking the opportunity, kicked Carver in the gut again and again, forcing the giant to back up more and more with each kick, mildly surprised at how hard his gut was. Nick briefly wondered if Carver ate rocks his stomach seem that tough.

Nick, wanting to place as much distance between him and Carver as possible, lashed out with another kick, only to get caught by surprise when Carver managed to grab his leg and pull him towards him.

Nick gave out a shout as he was briefly dragged across the counter, but knew that he had to have something to defend himself against the biggest, and bulkiest, tribute the arena had ever seen.

He managed to grab the frying pan he had been using off the stove and held it in front of his face, effectively blocking the baton blow to his head. Though it didn't help him escape the pain of landing painfully on the floor as pain shot through his back. The cutting board on his back only seemed to make it worse as the edge of the wood dug into his lower and upper spine.

A yelp escaped his mouth Carver started to kick him repeatedly. Nick tried to block them with the frying pan, but somehow, they all managed to get past him and hit him in the sides, a place he couldn't defend with the cutting boards.

So he swung the frying pan at Carver's legs, and when the stainless steel cooking item hit him, it made him scream in agony as he stumbled back and clutched his leg. Nick didn't think it would have hurt that much, but then he remembered that the damn thing was more than likely blazing hot due to it laying on the hot stove top.

Smiling, Nick shot to his feet and charged towards Carver, and with a mighty uppercut with both hands on the handle, Nick slammed the hot frying pan into Carver's chin at an upward angle, causing Carver's head to snap back and his whole body to straighten up. It resulted in exactly what Nick had planned. The stands weren't meant to hold someone of Carver's massive six foot nine height, so when the giant stood to it's full height, it smashed it's head on the roof with a satisfying crack.

With his attacker now dazed and confused, Nick pressed the searing hot pan against Carver's right hand with all the strength he could muster. The one that was holding the baton. Carver cried out in pure agony as he tried to get it away from him, but Nick put his entire body weight into trying to crush the hand. The sick sound of sizzling flesh and and grey smoke wafted into the air. Nick wondered if Carver could smell the stench of his flesh being cooked.

Nick wanted Carver's right hand to look like a black and red patch work of the devil. He wanted it to look like his own hand. He continued to press burn Carver's right hand until Carver's free hand back handed him across the face with the sound of flesh and bone hitting more flesh and bone. It caused Nick to see bright orange stars to fill is vision and let go of the frying pan as he felt himself stumbling backwards until he crashed into the counter.

"You fucker!" Carver shouted with as much rage as Nick expected as the sickening sound of hot metal was pulled off of flesh. "You god damn! Fucking mother fucker! You're going to pay for that!"

Nick tried to grab something, anything, to defend himself, but all he saw was a massive fist fly towards his face an instant before it hit him square in the face. It caused him to fall into the side of the stove before he felt Carver grab the back of his head through the fabric of his hood, and felt his face being slammed into the side of the stove. Pure agony ripped through his face as the first three made his face feel as if it was being flattened. The fourth time he heard something crack and felt the center of his face being twisted and burned.

Nick was then pulled back, and through his hazy vision, he saw the blurred image of Carver, and saw his right fist coming towards him. It hit him square in the face, and it was the hardest punch he had ever felt. It hurt more than he thought any punch could feel like in his opinion.

As Carver screamed due to punching him with his burnt hand, Nick could taste a mouthful of salty blood, and could feel it running out of his mouth. And though he knew that it was stupid, seeing someone as big as Carver wail due to punching someone with a burnt hand made Nick laugh.

The next thing he knew, Nick felt his face being pressed against the burning hot surface of the stove. Or rather, his arms were on the stove and they were protecting his face. Nick was thankful for that, as while his face was only about half burnt with third degree burns and a small amount of second degree burns, the majority of the rest of his body were covered in second and third degree burns. Mostly the latter. Meaning that he had lost feeling in most of his body except his face.

Even so, he knew that he couldn't let his body burn too long, or else his flesh would melt to the bone. Either that or Carver bashes his brains in with his baton. Which ever came first. So Nick struggled with all his might. He moved, he shoved, he even planted his foot on the side of the stove and tried to shove himself away from the stove, but Carver was just way too damn strong and heavy for even him to push back. _After all, he's from District Seven. And even though I'm big for someone from my district, I'm still just someone from District Three._

"You know what you did to my fucking hand you freak! You tried to burn it like you burned yourself! You think that I want to look like you? You think I want to be a part of your freak family you fucking pyro! You think I enjoyed that?"

That was when something inside Nick snapped. By all means it shouldn't have gotten to him like it had, but it did. A flood of memories came back to Nick. Painful memories of his greatest mistake. The memories and feelings of desolation. The whispers and stares of the folks in his district. The words that they spoke of him and the rage he had felt towards them because of their ignorance.

Even with all his anger towards them, he had never felt as much anger towards them as he had towards Carver. Nick didn't know if it was because Carver was actively trying to short circuit him, or if he had always been one nasty word from trying to short circuit someone and was merely holding himself back from doing so. Either way, he was sick of the way people looked at him and treated him because of things beyond his control.

 _First my district with my disorder! Then my district with the accident! Then the burns! Then the Capitol! They've always resented for little to no reason! I don't need this shit from you!_

It was then that Nick's body went into overdrive. Nick felt stronger and faster as his heart rate elevated, his lungs seemed to expand, and his muscles seemed to threaten to burst from his flesh. And he could see clearer, much clearer. And what was he hearing? He didn't know if it was the rushing of wind or the ringing of bells, but it made him think of a steaming kettle. And his thoughts were simple and to the point.

 _FUCKING! KILL!_

Nick gave out a yell before he pushed back with all his might, and with all the rage coursing through his body, Nick managed to push Carver back. Nick then twisted his body so that he was facing Carver, grabbing his sides and driving his head into the giant's stomach before, with seemingly inhuman strength, lifting the giant off his feet, and threw him to the side. Carver crashed into the side wall before Nick grabbed his flannel jacket and dragged him off the counter and somehow back onto his feet. Carver stumbled a few steps before he swung a fist at Nick.

Though Nick didn't choose to actively fight back home, he had been in more than a few brawls in his younger days. He saw Carver swing out a left hay maker, an attack that swung wide and left him open. Nick easily saw it coming and moved backwards, causing Carver's fist to hit nothing but air. And because Carver had put so much power behind his attack, he stumbled forward a couple of steps, allowing Nick to slam his foot into the back of Carver's knees. It caused Carver to scream before he fell to one knee.

Nick, feeling more powerful than he ever felt in his entire life, reached up, grabbed the back of the giant's head with both his hands, and slammed it into the reinforced window so hard that it warped slightly. Still holding onto the back of his head, Nick slammed Carver's head into the counter, not once, but twice, before he turned Carver's head, and lifted it up.

Nick moved his hands so that he was grabbing Carver's ears. He then pulled Carver's head down as his right knee shot up. Carver's face and Nick's knee meet halfway, and when Nick's hands slipped from Carver's ears and Carver's entire body fell backwards, Nick was disappointed that he hadn't ripped out Carver's ears. Still, Nick saw the blood fly out of Carver's mouth, and he swore he could see the metallic shine on the blood.

As Carver moaned in agony, the younger teen turned away from him to grab the second item that had been cooking on the stove. The handle of a pot a tadge over one third full of scalding hot cooking oil.

Nick grabbed the hot liquid and turned back to face the adversary. Nick had turned so fast that a bit of the hot oil had managed to escape it's container and land on the ground with a terrifying hissing noise. It didn't take much to see why Carver would be crawling away, especially when Nick had somehow picked him up, threw him onto the counter, and had gotten may times stronger. And hearing the sizzling that just occurred, it only made him try to get away faster as he continued to fail to get to his feet.

And if that weren't enough, the combination of steam coming off of his sleeves, the look of unadulterated rage on his burned face, and the fact that Nick's pupils had expanded greatly, and the blood running down his twisted nose and coming out of his mouth and the side of his forehead, it looked like Nick was a monster in human form.

"Where you going!" Nick shouted as he ran after Carver, who had only made it mere feet outside of the food stand before he found his entire backside being subjected to scalding hot cooking oil.

Carver gave out a scream Nick didn't even think human's were capable of mixed in with the harsh sizzling of hot oil traveling through his jacket before it started eating at his flesh. And though Nick couldn't see the damage it was doing to Carver, he hoped that it was beyond painful.

The teen from Three then kicked the giant from Seven in the gut, knocking what little wind Carver had in his lungs before he ran back into the food stand. Nick ripped open his duffle bag, nearly tearing the zipper off in the process, and grabbed out a rectangular metal container the size of a large canteen, and a cylinder like orange stick.

The warning symbols that told of the dangers of the product told Nick that he had found the right item before he hurried back to the downed Carver, who was already trying to escape again, if feebly. He had never stopped moaning in torment. Nick gave Carver another kick to the chest to stop him from moving before he twisted the cap off and began to douse as much of Carver as he possibly could.

When the can ran empty, Nick tossed it to the side before he grabbed the orange stick, ripped the sticky fabric off near the top, and tore the top portion of it off, sending off a brilliant show of sparkling flames and thick smoke.

With no hesitation or mercy, Nick tossed the ground flare onto the teenager doused in fire starter.

The instant Nick's assigned weapon landed on Carver's back, fire arose and rapidly spread throughout Carver's body until it seemed that his entire upper body had turned into a human bonfire.

Carver screamed, and found newly discovered strength to get up and try to beat the flames out. It did nothing but fan the flames and make them grow. Carver began to run as he continued to uselessly try and extinguish the inferno, looking like a screaming, burning match stick with legs.

And Nick, still drunk on the intoxicating drug known as adrenaline, and getting a rise out of seeing fire, lifted his head to the dark sky,and gave out a primeval roar, hoping that everyone, and everything in the arena and beyond would hear him.

 _Those that try to stop me from going home will get burned!_

And it wasn't a threat. Far from it.

It was a promise.

 **A/N: Knowing myself, I'll probably re-enter my down mood phase when I finish the next chapter. Who knows. But the next chapter I'm sure you guys will like.**

 **Anyway, this is a chapter I've been wanting to write for a while now. It's changed from what it was in my head by the end result is still the same. I'm... Satisfied.**


	36. How To Get Ahead

She really wished that she could light up her cigarette.

The fact that she had cigarettes, but not a lighter, didn't go unnoticed as she had wondered if the device had fallen out of her duffle bag somehow, but no matter where she looked she couldn't find one. Thus she came to the conclusion that the gamemakers had failed to provide her with one. She wondered if it was a failed spot check on their part, or if it was just something that they did on purpose to willingly screw with them.

She told herself that it was more than likely the later, as the gamemakers did do such things in the past to screw with the tributes. It created situations that would be entertaining to the aviator audience, because watching people suffering was always fun.

In a way, Terra didn't very much mind, as she thought of it as just another day in District Two. The academy instructors would purposely do things to the students to make their lives harder, to try and break them just a little bit more to see their reactions and what they'd do about it. And of course, as a student of the academy, you were expected to figure out how to make due with what you had and try to figure out how to move forward.

So that's what Terra did. She simply pulled a cigarette out of the pack and placed it between her lips, only feeling minimal relief as she simply felt the filter on the tip of her tongue and tasted the unburnt tobacco leaves. Still, it was better than nothing, she figured.

 _It's just like them to fuck with us._ Terra thought as she walked through the house that she could only describe as abandoned and decaying. The paint was fading and peeling from the walls, exposing the studs within the walls and the insulation that was escaping from it's holdings, looking much like overgrown pimples. _Because isn't it fun to watch others in distress?_ She personally didn't know, but she had seen others laugh at someone else's anguish and watched as the academy instructors had a field day with them. She also knew that some of that attention was pointed at her from time to time as well when she struggled.

Scratching her cheek with her index finger, Terra briefly wondered if the stale air that tasted of foam, fiberglass, and mold, was toxic, before she told herself that she didn't really give a damn. It was one of her few redeeming qualities, as the academy instructors had told her. She didn't really give a damn about many things. But there was also a downside to that, because really, she didn't care about a lot of things in general.

Still, she did try to care about certain things, but she just didn't hold an interest in them. Either that, or the attention she gave for them dropped significantly as she grew bored of trying to understand them, or she just dropped the act of pretending to care. Then again, many of the things that her family tried to get her to do were things that involved socializing, and Terra much more preferred solitary activities.

She wondered if the decaying house was placed in the arena for a reason that was relevant to her. The house was uncared for as it was dirty, uncared for as thick cobwebs littered the place and there were black and dark green spots on the walls that hadn't crumbled to the floor. In short, it looked like it was dying because of some sort of internal disease and lack of care it's owners put into it. _There's probably a reason I found this house. I just don't know why._

Terra didn't rack her head too hard as she figured she'd find out eventually. In the mean time, she searched the house for supplies, wondering if she had found the house because it had been abandoned and she had been picked as the person to find a hidden treasure or something.

So hadn't found much, as it was mostly empty, but she figured that there were some hidden gems somewhere. _Either that or this is just a pebble in the grand scheme of things._ Terra didn't put it past the gamemakers to make her look like a fool.

Terra then remembered that someone had let out a roar earlier. Glad that someone's having a good time. Terra thought, wondering if they had found or had done something good. Shouting with a reason of celebration. _Either way, they're just blading themselves by yelling. Telling everyone where they are because they're so happy about finding something. If this house hadn't been calling my name I'd have gone and figured out what they were so happy about._

Terra then wondered if the person had roared because they didn't really want to blade themselves, but because they actually wanted people to come towards them. She then didn't regret her decision to check out the house that had drawn her in like an invisible hand grabbing and gently guiding her. Of course, she bet that obeying the guidance of the invisible hand was better than wandering to the roar.

Having faith that someone from higher up had been guiding her, Terra continued to search the decaying house. She checked the drawers, the closets, everywhere. She kept on finding nothing but emptiness. She wasn't discouraged though, as she knew that there had to be something.

Terra walked into the next room, and saw a figure clad in all white, jump out at her with a scream. The teenage girl expressionlessly slammed her right fist into where the solar plexus were, feeling the hard surface of a training dummy before it rocked back and forth before it retreated back to whence it came, which turned out to be to be the left side of the wall.

Terra rolled her eyes again at the clay attempt the house was doing to discourage her from venturing further inside. They had training dummies that had been draped like a tent with white cloth, trying to make them look like ghosts. Attached to them was a machine of springs, gears, and other parts to make them jump out at her unexpectedly and give out a scream.

Every time she expected it to be another person, so whenever one of the dummies jumped out at her in an attempt to make her retreat from the house, Terra, like clockwork, hit them right in the solar plexus before realizing that it was just another training dummy.

 _Getting real tired of this shit._ Terra thought as she removed the cloth that clothed the dummy and placed it in her duffle bag. Most of the time the dummies would retreat back into a hidden compartment within the walls, but some wouldn't have that hidden closet like structure. Those were the ones that Terra grabbed the table cloths off of.

She then returned to the task at hand. Trying to find the treasure. The grand prize that those high above her wanted to find.

Terra checked the drawers and closets, managing to find a box of matches inside one of the old dressers. _I must be getting close._ Terra thought as she pulled out a match stick, scrapped it against the rough surface of the box, igniting the match head, and lighting her cigarette with the flaming head before waving the flame out of existence and tasting the sweet taste of nicotine. _Yep, that's the good stuff._

Terra sucked in her breath, letting the cancerous chemicals settle into her lungs for a moment before she flew out a cloud of grey smoke that looked not unlike the dust partials that floated through the house. _Knew I was brought here for a reason._

Glad that the skyward beings hadn't let her down, Terra continued to search the house, looking for the things she was destined to find.

* * *

From the moment he had awoken he was living in Hell.

He felt as if he was in the baking hot sun and his body was overheating. His muscles were tight and he felt as if there were insects burrowing inside his flesh, eating him alive. His intense body heat only made the experience even more uncomfortable as the bugs didn't seem to want to be sweated out, nor did scratching at himself yield any results. Not that it stopped him from having razor grain shaking that ceased to stop no matter what he did. Sitting on his arms only made them want to shake more, and it didn't stop his legs or neck from moving sporadically.

His mouth felt dry and rotten as his chapped lips bleed from him constantly chewing on them with his decaying teeth. His heart seemed ready to explode when it raced, but when it slowed, it seemed to cease beating, making Harvey believe that he was going to die. The thought frightened him enough to make his heart start racing again, with no in between. It was either beating hard enough to make him think it was going to jump out of his mouth, or it was beating so faintly that he thought it had stopped completely.

And then there was his chest. His chest felt like it was on fire and his brain felt like it was wrapped in thorns. His head felt so bad that he wanted to vomit, but nothing would come out, and for all the dry heaving he was doing, it yielded no results. Though Harvey had thought that he had seen himself vomit out a geyser of blood that were mixed in with literal pieces of his lungs.

That terrified Harvey to no end, until it had turned out to be a horrible hallucination. Still, it didn't stop the demonic voices from telling him that his time was coming and that he better prepare for his end. The voices didn't seem to come from anyone, but Harvey was sure that if he looked at the shadows for more than two seconds he could see that they weren't just shadows, but people made of shadows. Shadows that drifted from one part of the room to the next at their own whim.

Harvey did not want to die, but the thought kept on showing it's ugly head in his mind as he continued to try and pick the hungry insects out of his flesh. It only resulted in him tearing bloody holes in his skin.

But more than anything, more than the agony he was causing himself as he literally picked himself apart piece by bloody piece, more than the pain he was giving his mouth as he chewed his mouth apart with his rotting teeth. More than the hellish heat that was cooking him alive as he sweated profusely as his body trembled uncontrollably and his heart threatened to expire. More than anything else, Harvey wanted something to help relieve his cravings for narcotics.

Harvey had drank the water the gamemakers had provided, but it tasted of chemicals. It tasted of poison. He threw the bottle of water away, letting all the water drain from the bottle, before accusing the aviators of wanting him dead. He didn't trust the food either, so he threw that away as well.

There had been a can that sprayed out a spicy mist, but Harvey had no use of it other than to defend himself against the shadow people, so he kept that around in case one of the shadows tried to drag him to Hell.

The young teen had found the package of cigarettes, and after finding no way to light them up, he ate them raw, trying to suppress the torment he was experiencing. But after eating the cigarettes, filters and all, he still felt nothing but torment. He felt miserable, he felt empty, and he didn't know what to do.

 _Crack._ Harvey told himself as he dragged his fingernails across the wooden floor. _I need crack. Either that or meth. Even better. God, please give me some sugar cubes or salted ice!_

God didn't answer. Instead, he got the laughter of the devil and his demons. They were enjoying his tortured existence.

Harvey told himself that it was just a nightmare. Just a horrible nightmare that he tried so hard to avoid by taking those illegal stimulants. After all, nothing felt real and he felt like a piece of garbage that was just existing for the sake of existing. Nothing felt right, reality wasn't with him, so he figured he had to be asleep and in his nightmares.

But it didn't feel like a nightmare, and that only made him more confused and scared. He didn't even know what was happening to him. He wondered if gorging his eyes out would end him being able to see the Hell that he was in. He wondered if ripping his ears out would stop him from hearing the demons around him. He wondered if ripping his tongue out would stop him from craving sugar cubes and salted ice. He wondered if ripping his flesh out would cool him down. He wondered if ripping his heart from his chest would stop it from trying to decide whether it wanted to beat hard or not at all.

And the bugs. Maybe if he just peeled all his skin off he'd be able to see the bugs that were crawling around inside of him and he'd be able to remove them.

Grinding his teeth together, Harvey wondered if the heat his body was creating was the reason his mouth felt dry and why his throat felt so tight. Like he was trying to swallow razor blades and there was no saliva to help force them down.

The nightmares. All he wanted to do was not sleep so that he would avoid the horrific nightmares that plagued his life. He didn't even know why they had appeared in the first place. They had just came for no reason. And nothing he did could make them stop. And how could you make something that you didn't understand go away? How could you treat something you didn't even know what it was or how it came to you?

So Harvey did the only thing he could think of doing to avoid the nightmares. Drugs. After all, you could only stay awake by the sake of you own will power for so long. And the drugs worked so much better than harming yourself.

But now he didn't have anymore, and he didn't know what to do besides hope that somewhere out there there was mercy and that he survived the nightmare.

And then something appeared at the door way. Harvey nearly took it for a living shadow as it was near equal parts light and dark. But then he noticed that everything from the neck down all the way to a little above it's ankles was outfitted in a mess of green, brown, and black. A woodland spirit, it's what it had to be. What else would be pale and have the pattern of a forest?

 _It's here to kill me. It's here to kill me and bury me in the fields of District Nine!_

Harvey, afraid, paranoid, and in constant torment, charged at the thing in front of him.

* * *

Upon opening the door to the room, Terra saw a figure that was sitting in what looked to be a slightly uncomfortable position in the center of the run down room. The way he looked Terra could only describe as deranged. That thought lasted for less than an instant when he charged at her like a hostile, cornered animal the very moment she had seen him.

He ran at her with a scream that seemed almost inhuman as he had a crazed look in his eyes.

She saw the way he ran. She saw the way he looked with his eyes full of rage, confusion, and infocusness, and she guessed that he was someone that used stimulants. Of course, she had guessed that Harvey was someone who did drugs during her time in the Capitol, and had even noticed when she had been watching the reaping re-caps during the train ride to the Capitol. And unlike her escort, she and Thor hadn't reacted that much to seeing someone using stimulants as it was common place in the academy to give someone amphetamines to make them more aggressive and fearless.

So when he charged at her, she reacted as she should act when an academy student on amphetamine rushed at her. She took a defensive stance, and when he got close to her and swung a wide arced fist at her, she easily blocked it with one arm, kneed her attacker in the solar plexus, and with her free hand, grabbed the side of his head, spun him around, and slammed his head into the rotting wall. Harvey's head literally went into the wall with the sound of drywall falling apart and a grunt.

Terra, not stopping for a second, ripped Harvey's head out of the wall, making sure that her nails raked across his face, and threw him onto the floor with all her might, resulting in a loud thud. Harvey tumbled end over end as he gave out a yell as he went to grab his face. Terra silently wished that her prep-team and aviator stylist had known more about combat and less about girlish beauty as she didn't see her nails give Harvey four new slash marks.

Even so, Terra knew that she couldn't give the greenback stick a moment of recovery, so she ran towards Harvey, and didn't even give him time to find his bearings as the second he stopped rolling, Terra gave him a devastating kick to the face as he was still on his hands and knees.

Harvey's already bloody mouth was split open further thanks to Terra's powerful kick. The fact that Terra wore steel toed combat boots only made the damage to Harvey worse. Blood sprayed from Harvey's mouth as he flew backwards and landed on his ass. Blood poured from his mouth as he gave out a moan.

The female career then jumped and landed on the boy in such a way that her left knee landed on his right arm, pinning it to the ground as it was simultaneously trying to crush his elbow joint, while her right knee drove itself into his chest. Harvey gave out a chocked groan, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva. Terra reeled her right arm back, and with all the power in her arm, swung her fist forward and made it slam across Harvey's face, sending a splash of blood out of his mouth.

Terra struck him a second time, then a third time, and a fourth. Each hit opening Harvey's wounds up more, allowing his body to make more blood escape with each punch. A trio of rotten teeth escaped his mouth thanks to Terra's latest punch.

Harvey tried to defend himself against Terra, clawing at her chest with his free arm and wiggling violently, but Terra was firmly planted into Harvey in such a way that if he moved, it only drove her knee deeper into his chest. It allowed Terra to easily place more weight into his chest, forcing him back down. Terra noted that most people only tried to escape once or twice while she was in such a position, but because of the drugs in his system, he had tried it multiple times and wasn't even thinking about giving up.

As for him clawing at her chest and side with his free arm, her rugged and resilient camouflage jacket was able to withstand his tenacious but feeble attacks. As for his pinned down arm, Terra had her knee in such a position that it cut off blood circulation and made it near impossible to use effectively.

After the fifth punch across Harvey's mouth, Terra shook her right hand a little to loosen it back up before raising both hands and creating a claw like formation with her hands. She then shoved them forward, towards Harvey's face. Harvey managed to catch Terra's right arm mere inches from his face with his left hand. It stopped Terra from attacking the left side of Harvey's head, but it did nothing to prevent her left thumb from pressing against Harvey's right eye. Terra's thumb halted for a fraction of a second before she added some more force, and drove it into his eye socket.

Harvey let out a tormented howl as Terra's thumb drove itself deeper and deeper into his right eye socket. Terra felt the eyeball turn into mush as a mixture of thin white and thick yellow substances slithered across her thumb and out of Harvey's head like soft butter.

As much as Harvey flailed around, trying to get her off of him, Terra continued her relentless assault on Harvey as she twisted and jerked her thumb around in the gooey eye fluids until her entire thumb was inside his skull.

That was when Terra finally pulled her thumb out of the greenback's head and swirled her right arm around in a wide circular motion, forcing Harvey to release it lest she break his wrist.

 _Play time's over._ She declared. _The aviator's had their show, now it's time to finish this stick._

Terra then grabbed Harvey's left wrist with her recently freed right hand, and rolled onto her back, bringing Harvey with her. Harvey was then on top of her, but on his knees, making him easily able to mount her and pin her if he did the right moves. Mainly move his chest around her knee. Terra could see the greenback trying to figure out just what the hell was going on. Mixed in with his confusion, agony, and the position he was in, it made him vulnerable to a counter attack. Terra took full advantage of his confusion and his position, as she pulled her right knee back, causing Harvey to fall closer to her.

But not fast enough, as Terra had time to turn her leg and press her foot against his chest before she gave out a mighty push. Harvey instantly flew off of her and stumbled as Terra sprang to her feet with practiced ease.

The female career then rushed towards the injured boy until she was directly beside him, and shoved her right index and middle finger into his gaping eye socket, of which yellow goo was still dripping out of it like hot candle wax, and continued to run. Harvey was forced to follow as Terra had a grip on the inside of his skull.

Terra dragged him until they were close to a dirty and cracked window. Terra pulled her fingers from his skull, grabbed his face, and smashed it through the window with all her strength. The shattering of glass occurred before Terra pulled the boy back, spun him around, grabbed the back of his head with both her hands, and impaled his neck through a spike of jagged glass.

The once dusty glass shard was now a blood red, the same colour of liquid coming out of Harvey's mouth in a chocking like noise. It went on for around a dozen seconds before Harvey ceased to move.

A few seconds later, Terra wondered where the cannon was. She found it strange, but the entire situation was strange, so while the familiar sensation of anxiety buzzed through her body, she just struggled it off the best she could and went over to find the greenback's duffle bag so see what he had.

Quickly scanning the room, Terra noticed a water bottle that was empty on one side of the room. In the center of the room, near where Harvey used to be, there was a black duffle bag that was open. The rest of the room was unremarkable as it was basically the same as the rest of the rooms. A dresser, a cabinet, and a dirty mattress populated the room.

Walking over to the bag, Terra crouched down and checked it's continence. A single unopened ration, an open package of cigarettes with no cigarettes in it for some reason, and a compact black can of something with a small red button in the center.

Terra picked it up and read the label. The can called itself pepper spray, and Terra remembered that peacekeepers carried that on them in order to blind their adversaries with a thick mist of orange spray. It was also a favorite among academy instructors if they wanted to discipline students, or if they wanted to simulate someone going blind due to someone throwing sand in their eyes or something among those lines. Terra recalled getting hit by pepper spray, remembering that it felt as if her eyes were burning.

 _This is definitely a better weapon than the pillow those gamemakers gave me._ Terra wondered what the gamemakers had been thinking when they gave her a pillow. They could have given her anything, but they decided to give her a fucking pillow. _It's like they don't want me to succeed in my mission from God. Or whoever the fuck is up there. Hmm... Wonder if Splendor would have known who might have wanted me to do this._

She then decided that it really didn't matter who of the skyward beings sent her on the sacred mission, just that someone higher than her wanted it done. And who was she to refuse? There was a reason she had gotten reaped. Why the voices said lieutenant to her. There was a reason for all that, and she was going to do what she could about it.

Right after she finished screaming due to something sharp stabbing her in the neck, close to her right collar bone.

Terra grabbed where the stabbing pain was coming from with her left hand, and felt an arm near her neck. Throwing a right elbow at her unseen attacker as she pulled them forward, Terra felt her elbow connect with a face, making sure to spin with her momentum and release their arm and hit them in the face with a left fist.

Terra was surprised to see that her attacker was Harvey. He was alive! His neck had a second mouth and was drooling out a steady stream of blood, but he was still, very much, alive. And what's more, he was holding a long glass fragment in his hands.

Terra was about to withdraw her fist, but Harvey caught it in both his hands, and before she could do anything, Harvey pressed the red button on the aerosol canister, and a thick spray of orange mist blew towards Terra's face, causing her eyes to feel as if they were on fire.

The career let out a yell as she yanked her left arm back and smashed her right fist into Harvey's face once again. Harvey didn't let go. In fact, he charged towards Terra and slammed into her so hard that it knocked her off her feet. Both tributes fell to the ground, hard, and Terra felt rippling pain radiate through her back an instant before she threw her arms into a crossing guard that protected her entire face and neck, knowing that that's where most people would try and strike.

She was right. She felt a stabbing pain lance through her left bicep as a scream escaped her mouth. Knowing that the stabbing would continue if she didn't do something about it, Terra threw her arms in the opposite way they were facing. With her palms open, her right hand made a grab for the top right of his head while her left hand made a grab for the left side of his lower jaw. She guessed where they were, and when they made contact with his head, she didn't give a second's hesitation to wonder if they were in the correct position or not, she just pulled his head in a twisting, jerking motion as strongly as she could muster.

She didn't expect Harvey's neck to snap as she knew snapping someone's neck wasn't really as easy as people thought it was, but what she did expect was Harvey to move off of her due to the sheer amount of pain and sudden movement it would do.

She was right, and Harvey did indeed roll off of her. Terra rolled the opposite way Harvey did, wiping her eyes with her jacket sleeve and attempting to cry some more so that the tears could wash the pepper spray out of her eyes quicker.

Springing to her feet when she guessed she was a good distance away from her attacker, Terra grabbed the stabbing instrument that had embedded itself in her left bicep, and yanked it out with a pained grunt as it hurt more coming out than going in. From what she could feel, she guessed that it was the glass shard Harvey had been holding.

Terra kept a grip on the glass shard, wanting to stab Harvey in his other eye so that he'd be blind like her. Only permanently.

Terra continued to wipe her eyes with her jacket when she heard foot steps approaching her. Terra jumped out of the way, and felt something, probably another glass shard, slide itself into left side of her stomach. Terra screamed, but she turned towards her attacker and tried to grab the back of his shirt, and missed. Fuck!

She then heard him charging again, and managed to jump out of the way in time.

Terra wiped her eyes again, and this time, she was able to see the blurred figure of Harvey turning around and charging at her again. With no time to jump out of the way, Terra braced for impact, and felt Harvey body slam into her. But Terra kept her footing and put herself in such a position that she stopped Harvey in his tracks. But that didn't stop Terra from feeling another sense of agony lance through the center of her gut, making her loose her grip on the bloody glass shard.

Terra looked down, and saw that through her blurred vision, she had failed to see that Harvey was carrying a long but not very wide wooden splinter of which was double the length of her hand. Terra bared her teeth, but the second Harvey twisted the splinter and drove it deeper into her gut, Terra let out a pained growl.

 _Until I complete my mission from God, or whoever the fuck is up there, I am not going to die. Especially not by some clay, greenback stick piece of shit!_

With her right hand, Terra grabbed broken piece of a wall stud and pushed it away from her body. Meanwhile, her left palm struck Harvey's chin and his head went back, but Terra kept her palm under his chin and continued to push. The second mouth at Harvey's neck began to widen, allowing blood to spray out freely, painting the front of Terra, as skin and muscle tore open.

The two combatants pushed with all their might, trying to kill the other. But neither would yield. He's a drug addict. Terra told herself. Nothing more. He's worse than jack rabbits as far as District Two is concerned. If you die now, you will have shown everything that they made the wrong choice in choosing you for their sacred task!

Terra pushed harder with her left arm, and with each second Harvey's head was getting less and less attached to his shoulders and more and more blood was spraying onto the girl, though she didn't really give a fuck. She just wanted Harvey to die. But she knew that Harvey wanted her to die as well, as both his hands were pushing at the wooden spike in her gut.

That was when Terra felt as if the task had gotten a whole lot easier. She felt stronger, Harvey's flesh was being torn apart faster, and Terra could feel the wooden spike painfully sliding out of her flesh quicker.

It probably had something to do with the fact that a hand had appeared from behind Harvey and was pulling at his lower jaw and was pulling his body back with the other.

The wooden spike slide out of Terra's stomach before she backed up, allowing Thor to smash his leg behind Harvey's knees, sending him to kneel down to Terra like he was asking for forgiveness. Forgiveness that he'd never get as Thor pressed his right leg onto Harvey's back to give him more grip on his jaw.

The sound of gurgling and the sound of tearing flesh and muscle filled the air. Terra noted that the bare handed tearing of Harvey's neck sounded much like the bare handed tearing of a citrus fruit.

Harvey struggled against Thor, but his left arm was being held and stretched out by Thor's left, and Harvey's right arm couldn't effectively reach anything. Not that that stopped him from uselessly flailing it around.

Terra threw away the wooden spike, got behind Harvey, and joined Thor by hooking her left hand over Harvey's chin, pressed her left foot onto Harvey's back, and held Harvey's right arm out with her right hand.

The two District Two tributes pulled with all their might, wanting to decapitate the greenback stick.

It took a lot of strength and effort of constant pulling, but without warning, there was sickeningly wet snap before the male and female bronhole fell to the ground with a thud. Harvey's head flew off his shoulders as droplets of blood rained down as it spun round and round like a diabolical ball with brown spine and vertebrae with red strips of muscle and dark skinned flesh fluttering about.

The severed head hit the wall with a wet splat before it dropped to the floor with the same sound. Both District Two tributes breathed in and out, finding that ripping someone's head off was a lot harder than they imagined.

After a minute or so of silence, Thor was the first one to speak.

"Can't believe I had to come and save your ass from a greenback stick."

"What took you so long?" Terra asked with her flat toned voice, touching the center of her stomach and feeling the blood coming out of the wound.

"Didn't think you'd need to be rescued so early." Thor then gave out a groan as he got to his feet before helping Terra up. "What'd he do to you?"

"Fucker stabbed me in the neck, the side, the stomach, and the left bicep. The glass shards are still in my neck and side." Terra answered. "Got any medical supplies? Because I've got a lot of tables cloths... Or something."

"I wish. Take your jacket and shirt off so I can see the damage. In the meantime, where's your duffle and what weapon did they give you?"

"My duffle's over there." Terra told her ally, motioning her head towards the duffle bag. "Nine's is there as well and he had some pepper spray that fucked me over." Terra unbuttoned her jacket before she tossed it to the floor before she took off her long sleeved black shirt, wincing due to her injuries. "And they gave me a fucking pillow of all things."

"That's just about useless," Thor told her as he sliced up some strips of cloth he had gotten from her bag with his assigned weapon. "I mean, it seems that they could have given you anything, and they give you a fucking pillow. Seriously?"

"They must not like me." Terra told him like she didn't really care, but she was really wondered what it could have meant. She eyed Thor's weapon though. "But they certainly do like you." _No doubt. High grade black steel that blends nearly perfectly in the dark. A handle that offers protection for both the hand and the wrist along with a non-slip grip for added comfort. Yeah, they really love him if they gave him a cutlass sword._

"Don't I feel special." Thor replied dryly before he came back with four long white strips of cut up table cloth. Thor looked at Terra's wounds before he spoke again. "From what I can see, we should leave the glass shards in until we can find some way to cauterize the wounds unless you want to chance bleeding to death. The others aren't as bad, but still pretty bad."

With that, Terra wound the makeshift bandages around her four stab wounds with her partner's help. It didn't go as smoothly as she'd have liked as they seemed to drive the shards deeper into her. She was pretty sure that she felt the shard in her neck scrap against her collar bone. "Let's hope that stops the bleeding and clots itself for those two wounds that don't require fire." There was a pause. "Speaking of fire, do you have a lighter or match or something? I'm, like, dying for a cigarette."

Terra then went over to her camouflage jacket, and pulled out the match box from one of it's many pockets. The box was a little scrunched up, but thankfully, none of the matches had broke. Terra also grabbed her pack of cigarettes and stuck one in her mouth before lighting up the match and lighting up her smoke. She then lit Thor's cigarette up with her match before she dropped the match and snuffed it out with her boot. "Thank God. I didn't think I could go another minute without one."

As the two tributes smoked, Terra got dressed as Thor collected Harvey's clothes and stuffed them into his duffle bag. Terra found the pepper spray she had found before she placed it in a jacket pocket.

Her wounds burned, especially the ones that made themselves a home for the two glass shards. Still, it wasn't anything to unbearable, so like the District Two career she was, she sucked it up.

As they went to the room's exit, Terra had a question form in her mind.

"Why hasn't a cannon gone off? I mean, he's obviously dead." _Unless he rises up from the dead._ She wondered if that was even possible. At least in pysical form.

"I have no clue." Thor answered. "Probably another trick the gamemakers are playing on us. I mean seriously, have you seen the mutts for this ye-"

A scream occurred and out jumped out a white clad figure at the door. Thor punched it right in the face before it swung back to where it had came from. "God damn it! How many of these things are there in this house?"

"Too many." Terra replied, thinking of how she didn't like those things as well. "And do you have any ideas on how to cauterize these wounds? They really hurt and itch and I don't like that these bandages are driving them deeper into me."

"I've got one idea," Thor answered. "But you aren't going to like it."

 **A/N: Another thing that turned out a little differently than I thought it would. Still, I'm satisfied.**

 **So I made another SYOT, and hope to finish it, and hopefully will because it's going to be short. Or so I hope... It won't have as much description, character development or character depth as I'd like, but hopefully it'll still be alright as I challenge myself to make shorter chapters. It's a modern day AU SYOT, so it may or may not be easier to do. It's called Reconstruction Destruction.**

 **I'd like it if you took a look at it and maybe submit a tribute, though you are by all means not obligated to. If you could also tell others about it and have them submit a tribute, that would be helpful as well.**

 **I find this heavily... Hypocritical? Or something since I'm currently bad at reviewing the two SYOTs my characters are in.**


	37. Forged With Fire

_It felt like he was on the inside of an industrial rock crusher._

 _His chest was feeling the torment of being beaten more than it would have liked, and his heart was beating erratically, pumping the body's much needed blood. He was struggling to breathe as it felt as if his chest was being constricted and his head was pounding profusely. It didn't help that he felt as if he was going to faint and that he could barely keep his fists up as his breaths became ragged._

 _He had pucked once already, but that didn't take away the sensation of bruises beginning to form on his face. He knew that in a few hours his face, chest, and arms were going to be a mess of black and dark purple due to the relentless assault. And to make matters even worse, he knew that he was bleeding. He didn't know how much he was bleeding since the heavy and chilling rain did a pretty good job of washing the blood from his wounds, but god did it sting. And if he weren't soaked to the bone, he would have assumed that his clothes were sticking to him because of how much he was sweating._

 _Glaring at his opponent, who was just as beaten as he was, Thor Houghton wondered just how much longer this conflict was going to go on for. How much more fighting was deemed necessary until they could finally quit. But as quickly as the thought came up, he just as quickly realized what a retarded question that was._

 _He didn't know how long they had been fighting for, but the bastard refused to give in. And he sure as fuck wasn't giving up either. And there was a reason for that. A reason that had everything to do with the reward of winning the the punishment for losing. And even though he hated the people that would give out the rewards and punishments, he knew that there was nothing he could do about. At least, not in his current location in the present._

 _Both of them looking like they were fighting to the death due to how physically damaged they were and the way their clothes were slicked with wet mud and dirt due to them getting down and dirty with each other. Hell, unwashed mud was still on their exposed faces, and Thor could feel some of the thick substance seeping into the cut at the crown of his head. His shoes were soaked through and his socks felt like they were made of wet mud._

 _Surrounding them were the academy instructors and their fellow academy classmates, all yelling out various comments and obscenities. All of them were getting a surge of high intensity emotions that came with watching two thirteen year olds beating the absolute shit out of each other. Though Thor had unintentionally been unfocused on them and had hyper focused on his adversary._

 _"What's the fucking hold up?" One of the academy instructors bellowed over the student chants and the pouring rain. Somehow, that had broken through his hyper focus, and he could now hear the chants and everything else in full force. "You pussies already done? You all finished? If this is the best that you can do then you're both god damn pathetic pieces of clay pussies that deserve to crumble to pressure and dissolve in the fucking rain!"_

 _"I ain't... A... Pathetic... Piece of... Clay!" Thor opponent exclaimed with a hoarse voice could barely be heard. "Especially... Not towards... Some... Fucking... Jack rabbit!" The only reason Thor didn't interrupt him was because he was physically incapable of uttering a single word._

 _"Then beat him!" The instructor demanded. "Crush him under your heel and make him beg for mercy!"_

 _As his fighting partner recovered some of his breath, Thor unbuttoned his thin jacket and held it limply in his hand like an overly long wet rag._

 _"I'd like... To see the... Faggot... Try it!" Thor declared with and equally hoarse voice before he gazed his opponent square in the eyes. "Or maybe... Instead of a... Dick in the ass... You can have... A girl... Shove... Something in there... Instead. Heard you... Can't decide... Between the two."_

 _Thor could see that he had struck a nerve with the boy. A big one at that. The boy gave out an enraged, yet ragged, war cry before he charged. His moves were already clumsy due to the fatigue, but it became even worse since he had became angry. It was exactly what Thor had expected._

 _The boy gave out a wild, powerful swing which Thor managed to dodge despite his own battle fatigue and hazy vision. Thor navigated under his enemy's arm and threw the wet jacket onto the boy's face. The boy hadn't expected Thor to throw his jacket onto his face and reacted in shock. It gave Thor more than enough time to grab each end of his jacket and wrap it around the boy's head like a head scarf._

 _With his opponent now, literally, swinging around in a blind rage, Thor only needed to hold the jacket with one hand to prevent it from falling from his head as he used his free hand to beat his face in. The crowd went wild as Thor punched the blinded boy over and over again before he pulled him to the wet and muddy ground with all his might._

 _The boy struggled, now trying to claw the wet jacket off his face as Thor knew what was happening to him. The boy felt like he was drowning due to how tight the fabric was pressed against his mouth, and with the amount of water hammering down onto the jacket, it probably felt like he was under a waterfall or something._

 _Even with all that, it didn't stop the instructors from telling Thor to hit him some more. To bash his face into the mud and sit on his face and other things of that nature._

 _Thor didn't do that, but he didn't free the boy from his prison until nearly a minute later. By the time his unwrapped his jacket from the boys head, the boy was hacking out water from his mouth and struggling to even breathe. It didn't take much to see that he couldn't even move as breathing was a monumental task. Meanwhile, the instructors and the other classmates were laughing at him. Mocking him for losing against jack rabbit Thor Houghton._

 _Thor was putting on his wet and dirty jacket when one of the instructors came at him with a pissed off look in his face._

 _"Houghton!" The instructor roared, stopping less than two feet away from the teenager. "When you were told to press his face into the mud by your instructor, why did you not do it?"_

 _"Go fuck yourself," Thor told him in an act of defiance. "I won." Thor never saw the punch to his face that he received from the adult and found himself on the ground. He knew that he should have expected it, and he had, but he didn't have the stamina to care. Almost._

 _"Little shit!" The instructor shouted before he gave out two kicks to Thor's already battered chest. Thor didn't cry out in pain, though he very well wanted to. "You think you know better than us? When we tell you to do something you damn well do it! No exceptions!"_

 _"Fuck you, I won without your damn advice." Thor responded before he felt another kick to the stomach, causing what little air he had stored up to whoosh out._

 _"And you call your little dance a proper fight? I saw no less than five openings that could have fucking destroyed you! You think you're solid? You ain't shit. Someone who's an oilier streaker could beat your pussy ass in the arena. And let's not even get into those glass circles and sea stains. So when we tell you to do something, you damn well better do it and show some fucking respect!"_

 _"Fuck your respect." Thor managed to crock out before the heel of a boot meet his face. Thor gave out a cry of pain before he was roughly picked up the the back of his jacket._

 _"You think you're fucking solid?" The instructor roared before he shoved Thor just enough to make him stumble, but not enough to make him fall. "Think you're fucking better than us? Then fight me! Fight me and show that you aren't as pathetic as the sticks that I broke in the arena!"_

* * *

Thor had fought him, and it would have been an understatement to say that he lost.

He had been destroyed. And to add salt to the wounds, he was instructed to run around the academy until he couldn't even move anymore. Not that he really could move as he could only crawl at the pace slower than that of a baby's. Not that the instructors cared as they screamed profanity at him and kicked him when they deemed he was moving too slow or they thought he was giving them lip. Which was quite often and only half true.

 _Just don't fucking understand it._ Thor thought as he looked at his cutlass sword that was being heated up in the fireplace. _As they said in their own words. We're a warrior race. Not like those clay ass sticks. So they teach us how to fight and how to utterly crush the competition. Born to kill and all that shit. And they, for all the violence they tell us to do, they still want us to fucking respect them. Why should I respect a bunch of arrogant bastards that teach us to be hardcore and utterly disrespectful to everyone. Everyone but them._

Thor considered it a huge double standard as they could be as rude and violent to them as they pleased, yet, they had to show them the upmost respect. Unless you wanted a punch to the face, a boot in your nuts, or an excuse to make them tell you to do a hundred push ups or something else they demanded you do.

 _What does respect have anything to do with what they teach us anyway?_

And then there was the Capitol as well. No matter what they did to you they still demanded respect. Like how they demanded that Roxanne and Marble still give them respect, even after everything they had done to Marble, and threatened to do to Roxanne and Stanton.

 _What did the Capitol ever do to gain our respect?_

Among those thoughts, he wondered if that was just the remnants of his conduct disorder speaking, or if they were really his own thoughts. After all, he hadn't found anyone else like him. Not even among the other academy dropouts. It was just another thing that made him wish that Roxanne and Marble were still alive and could teach him without worry.

Thor looked at his sword and saw that it was practically glowing a fiery orange, so using his right hand, which had been wrapped with his black sweatshirt, he pulled the glowing weapon out of the fireplace and saw that it was, indeed, glowing. He could feel the threatening heat radiate off of it. _Perfect_. He thought before he turned to Terra, who had removed her camouflage jacket and long sleeve shirt to expose what was underneath.

Her now exposed chest and stomach was nearly as pale as her face and hands, but even more so. It showed just how much she was out in the sun, which Thor guessed wasn't much. But despite that, her stomach was toned, but not overly so, as expected from academy training, if not in the lesser degree. It made her black sports bra and the crimson blood stand out from her pale skin and made the scars blend in better.

With Thor wearing only his black t-shirt, he could he almost wanted to compare scars.

"I stick to my statement before," Thor said to his district partner. "Some colour on you would make you look a lot better. And your breasts are small enough that you barely need a bra."

"And I still say that you don't need pants since there's nothing to hide there." Terra countered flatly. Thor let out a little laugh before he started to talk again.

"Okay, but in all seriousness," he said as his face turned to once that was indeed, serious. "Ready?"

"No."

"Too bad. Get ready." Thor instructed before he reached for the glass shard in her side before Terra moved out of his way.

"Go away." Terra demanded in her monotone voice.

"Come on Terra, you know that this needs to be done." Thor said waving around the glowing sword almost nonchalantly, almost branding Terra a couple of times by accident.

"You were right."

"Yeah. I am right, so get over here."

"No. You WERE right." She said, doing her best to empathize on the were part of her sentence. It was something that Thor almost didn't pick up thanks to her near emotionless voice.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He asked in mild annoyance.

"About you saying that I wouldn't like you plan."

"Well I told you that you weren't going to like it."

"Then you should have known that I wouldn't like it."

"I took your silence as you were going to go through with it."

"My silence meant I agreed with you."

"Agreed with what? That you were going to go through with it?" Thor asked, getting a little more annoyed that he didn't understand what she was talking about.

"That you knew that I wasn't going to like your stupid plan."

"It's not stupid." Thor told her. "We can't just keep those shards in you. I mean, if we had a needle and thread, or some quick clot powder it'd be different. But we don't have any of that, and we sure as hell don't have any arrows with us, so this sword," he said as he raised the blazing hot piece of steel. "Is the best we've got." Though even he was willing to admit that it was a little big for cauterizing.

"I still don't like it." Terra responded. To which Thor let out a disgruntled grunt.

"Terra, you're still in the academy, right?"

"Why?" She asked.

"I've forgotten something from the academy," he told her as his plan formed. "And it's been bugging me as of late. Can you remind me the academy creed about injuries?"

Terra then thought for a moment before she started to narrate the words.

"I will not let the fear of pain turn me away. I will not be consumed by the fear of pain. I will walk willingly towards the pain as I inflict it upon my enemies. For our body is strong. Pain is all in the mind, for our body is more solid than our mind gives it credit for. Our enemies are clay, for they let the thought of pain consume them in fear. They are unwilling to face the pain. But for us, the proud warriors of District Two, we don't fear the pain. For pain is weakness leaving the body."

"Precisely." Thor said with a smile.

"Wait... What?" Terra asked before Thor ripped the glass shard out of her neck an instant before she screamed and Thor applied the burning sword onto her neck wound, causing Terra to make her scream blood curdling. Thor swore he heard more emotion in her screams than she normally used while talking.

Thor heard the sizzling of flesh being burned for just a second before he brought the sword off of Terra's neck. Just in time for Terra's arm to miss the hot steel blade and cup her burn.

"Just think of how much weakness is leaving your body now." Thor said with a chuckle as he smelt cooked flesh.

"I knew it!" Terra shouting, somehow still staying monotone as she clutched her burned neck. "I fucking knew it you ass!"

"Ah, don't be such a bitch and get ready for the next round."

"You think that after that I'd willingly want that to happen again?" Terra asked. "It hurt more coming out than it did going in!" To which Thor answered almost immediately.

"No." He then ripped the glass shard out of her side and cauterized the wound with his hot sword, causing Terra to give out another blood curdling scream. The sizzling of skin occurred again before Thor pulled it away before Terra could burn herself more than necessary. "There, all done." He announced proudly before he felt a fist hit him across the face before he found himself sprawled out on the floor.

It surprised him. Mainly because he hadn't expected Terra to be able to hit so hard.

"You dick! You fucking dick! I should shove that sword up your ass!" She said in her best angry voice.

"As tempting as that sounds, I'll have to decline." Thor told her as he stood up with a groan. Nice hit. She isn't as clay as I though. Thor then threw his sword to the side since he didn't want his sweatshirt to catch on fire and walked over to his duffle bag and threw his district partner his bottle of water. Terra immediately cracked it open and began to apply some to her burn areas. "The academy never told us how painful mending our own wounds could be." _Those stitches are still a fucking bitch._

"The academy prefers stitches and the like." Terra told him.

"Don't I know it." Thor replied as he scratched his face, remembering having to stitch most of his own wounds closed. "Makes me wonder if the medics were originally clothers or something the way they stitch our faces closed."

Terra only let out a hum of agreement as she rubbed water over her burn marks. She only used the minimum amount of water she deemed necessary, which wasn't very much, before she re-sealed the bottle and threw it back to Thor, who in turn, poured some onto his sword before he put the bottle back in his duffle bag. "Ready to go?" He asked as he grabbed the now steaming sword in sweatshirt rolled hand.

"Yeah." Terra answered before she put on her clothes.

"All right," Thor said when Terra was finished dressing herself and the two of them were walking towards the exit. "Let's find Dayta and Marsha."

* * *

It wouldn't have taken a genius to know that she was terrified.

Not only was she in the arena, but she didn't really know what was going on. Sure she knew the basic rules on what was going on, but other than that, everything was just left up in the air for her to wonder about. No bloodbath, no cornucopia, just waking up with a duffle bag beside her and having to approach the arena from there.

Sure it could be seen as an advantage, but because of the unfamiliarity of it, it only made her more afraid of what was to come. It left her with more questions than she would have expected. After all, weren't you supposed to be escorted to the arena, given arena clothes and participate in the bloodbath as you collected supplies? Instead, she had been shot by peacekeepers, knocked out, and left in her denim jacket and denim pants.

After waking up and finding her duffle bag, Soya had found that she had been given food, water, and a weapon. A hacksaw that she considered more of a joke than anything else. But it was far from funny to her. No. It was more like some kind of sick, sadistic joke that the gamemakers had thought of. Because in her mind, giving her a hacksaw meant that the gamemakers really wanted the tributes to suffer.

Soya imagined her, or another tribute, using the handheld saw to rip through flesh with it's serrated metal teeth, causing the victim to be consumed in complete agony as they slowly died.

That was the beginning of her hell in the arena. It only became worse as she wandered aimlessly around the abandoned food stands and the other various attractions of the arena. It reminded her of the summer festivals back in District Eleven when food stands would be erected up and citizens would attempt to sell products and produce in order to try and make some extra coin. Though more often than not a bartering system was used.

It made it even more surreal as it was like an abandoned District Eleven summer festival stand. But mixed in with some Capitol elements.

It made her think of home. It made her want to go home. And because of that, she had felt the buzzing and light headedness that came with wanting to wander even more aimlessly thanks to her dissociative fugue. And while she knew that anxiety triggered it, there was little she could do to calm herself down, despite her best efforts.

It didn't help that she had been chased by some red shirted people that she didn't recognize. They had threatened to kill her, and that made her more scared. But she managed to escape, and was grateful that she didn't have to get into a confrontation with them, as that would have made her anxiety rise even more.

But when she thought that she was going to be able to calm down, even just a little, she heard someone screaming. She made the mistake of looking, and saw a figure that had been engulfed in dancing flames.

It cast an eerie glow as it thrashed around wildly like a moving fireball.

That caused her to scream and flee from that area in an instant. She feared that she was in someone's wire territory and they were someone that fire wired.

Now she was hiding in one of the empty food stands, shaking violently with fear as she wondered even more what in the fuck was going on. _A game with no bloodbath, no cornucopia, an arena that reminds me of home, tributes that I've never seen before, and now a person on fire? How much more fucked up can this get?_

As tears flowed freely from her eyes, she looked like a pathetic sight. A big girl that was muscular from all the hard labor that District Eleven demanded of her. The calluses on her hands showed that she wasn't afraid of doing the hard work, even if the tracker hive made her uncomfortable. Yet she was trembling like a scared animal and was crying like a small child. Her sobs were audible and with the way her eyes looked behind the waterworks could only be described as shock.

For all of her tough appearances, there was a reason that she had soft, yet sun baked, facial features instead of the normally rough features that were commonly associated with those from her district. It wasn't because of her lack of physical strength. Far from it. It was that she tended to avoid things that made her overly anxious. That especially meant that she avoided confrontation when all possible. Even in a district where the peacekeepers were brutal and seemed to have a sadistic fetish for whipping people.

 _But conflict is everywhere here._ Soya thought as she continued to tremble. _Those red shirts. The other tributes. This whole arena is just one big cloud burst. I don't belong here. I can't handle much more of this. Hell, I could barely handle being back home out in the fields. How am I supposed to remain calm and sane in this place?_

Soya hoped that her family and friends wasn't watching her. Especially her siblings. She didn't want them to see their big sister losing her mind so quickly, so disgracefully. Not when they were already being made fun of because she was a coward and they usually had to bail her out of cloud bursts. _Older siblings are supposed to protect younger siblings. Not the other way around._

And while she knew that any of her sisters would be a better tribute in the arena, she still wouldn't want to swap herself out so that they could have a better chance of winning. Because that's all it was. A better chance.

 _Maybe I should fight_. Soya thought, but then felt the scars on her back aching tremendously. Along with a flood of memories. That quickly made her give up the idea of sawing someone's head off.

I don't want to fight. Soya thought as she sobbed even harder. But I don't want to die either. I want to go back home and be with my family. My friends.

As she was sulking and thinking about her home and friends, Soya didn't hear the commotion that was occurring around her. Instead, she felt it. She felt it when a seemingly great weight fell on top of her, causing her to scream and kick as she waved her hacksaw around in fright. The weight rolled off of her, making the first two swings hit nothing but air. The third, however, she felt resistance and heard something being torn. It was then followed by a scream before she looked to where she had swung, and saw a figure clothed in a orange and black sweatshirt. The sweatshirt wasn't in the best condition, and neither were the dark denim pants they were wearing. But what startled her wasn't the fact that they had literally jumped on her. Or the fact that most of their face was obscured by their hood. It was the fact that they were clutching their chest.

The fabric of their hoodie had been torn open, and out was leaking out a mixture of white cotton and a dark red liquid that Soya could see, even in the dusk like sky, was blood. Soya was horrified that the diagonal wound was much better than she expected. It probably extended from their right nipple to their left hip bone if she was seeing it correctly.

The girl couldn't believe what she had just done. She just looked on in shock at the fact that she had sawed a person's chest open.

"Stay away from me!" The hooded figure cried out before they leaped out of the stand and ran away. Soya was too in shock to notice that the figure had fled as she continued to hold her now bloody hacksaw in her hand in front of her. She continued to tremble, only noticing that there was nobody in front of her when a new face appeared from outside the stand, looking down at her.

"Another one?" The female in a red shirt screamed out in mild surprise before she made a grab for Soya.

Soya, yet again out of fear, swung the saw at her opponent, and unlike the first attacker, she felt resistance on her first swing. Not only that, but she fully saw the damage that her saw had done as the woman screamed and pulled her hand away due to Soya sawing into the flesh between her thumb and index finger.

The woman clutched her injured wound as her thumb couldn't decide whether it wanted to dangle or not as blood sprayed out of her hand.

That was when Soya decided to follow her first victim and flee the scene. All the while, she felt the buzzing of her anxiety threaten to consume her. Please. She begged. Please don't. And while there was little she could do to retain her identity, she could hope that she didn't lose it and wander aimlessly.

* * *

The torment was not only blinding, but complete and total as he ran around the arena in a compete disregard to the world around him.

It would have been easy for someone to try and finish him off, and even easier to spot, due to the fact that he was he was practically a moving, screaming, human bonfire. Not that he would have particularly cared at that point in time as he couldn't even think of anything else besides the fact that he was in agony.

Carver ran around, crashing into empty stands in a frenzy until he finally fell to the ground and started to remember the basic standard procedure in the case you found a part of you on fire. Stop, drop, and roll. So Carver did just that in an ungraceful fashion, but the fire wasn't going out quick enough for him since the ground was more of a concrete blacktop than dirt.

Growing increasingly desperate as the flames were threatening to melt his face off, Carver clawed at what was left of his quilted jacket and tore it off his torso, taking strips of his own flesh off in the process.

He threw the jacket away and continued to roll on the concrete ground as he slapped himself, trying to snuff out the fire that was eating him alive. Pieces of flesh tearing off onto the blacktop in the process.

By the time the flames had been snuffed out, he could barely even move. The only reason he even attempted to move in his tortured form was to feebly crawl behind a stand so that he wouldn't be completely out in the open. And even when he wasn't moving he was in immense pain beyond anything that he could even comprehend.

Smoke was still rising from his body like meat on a hot skillet as he could feel his flesh peeling off of him and still sizzling. His back, where Nick had thrown hot oil, had began to sprout painfully large off yellow blisters. More than half his hair had been sindged off, but that was the least of his problems as his throat and nostrils felt as if it had been seared and he could taste and smell smoke, blood, and charred skin.

His eyes stung, and he could only see through one eye due to the fact that the liquids in his left eye had began to dry and crust over. Even just breathing was a difficult task as he continued to hack of smoke from his parched throat. His upper body was now a mixture of ugly red and black, crispy flesh.

In short, he looked kind of like a freshly burned Nick but with one non-functioning eye.

He couldn't believe how the situation had turned. It was supposed to be a simple task. Rush into the food stand and kill whoever was inside of it. Instead, he was in the most unimaginable agony of his life, and to add insult to injury, he had lost his weapon and all his supplies. No doubt Nick was living large because of that.

It was something that Carver struggled to comprehend as he was larger and stronger than Nick was. Yet somehow, that boy not only kicked his ass, but utterly humiliated him when the odds had been entirely in his favor.

Back in District Seven people knew not to mess with him. There was a reason that elms didn't pick on his siblings. If they did and he showed up they stopped. And if they didn't, they got beaten up. And those were District Seven elms. So how in the world could an electronics geek from one of the physically weakest districts beat him?

The man wouldn't have called himself a predator, but he definitely didn't consider himself to be prey. But when it came to it, he knew that he'd have to become a predator in order to survive in the arena. And because of his strength, his ability to either bludgeon someone or split them in two with an ax, and to resist blows, along with the evidence that came about in the Capitol, he considered himself more than just a predator in the arena. He considered himself the apex predator.

Breathing laboriously, Carver could just sense that the aviators were laughing at him for losing to such easy prey. And that only pained him more. They had thought that he was a sure winner. His escort even told him so and told him that aviator sponsors had high hopes for him and were more than willing to spare some money on him on his road to victory. So why was he in this position? Where had he fucked up?

Carver could only moan as his thoughts and energy depleted rapidly and he wondered if he was going to die. He wanted to close his only functioning eye, but was afraid that if he did, he'd die.

 _Fuck. Why?_

The only good thing that he could manage to think of was the fact that he couldn't feel most of his upper body, but he didn't dare look to see what had been done to him in fear of what he'd see.

Carver continued to half breathe half moan before he saw a silver parcel land directly in front of him by a white parachute. And even though it was barely three feet away from him, Carver had to use what little energy he had with a monstrous amount of effort just to get his finger tips to touch it. The cold metal, for some reason, seems unforgiving hot as he struggled to pull it towards him.

When he was able to finally get it close to him, it became a difficult task to even take the top off of the disk shaped pot. Inside he found a small disk shaped container and a note. Through his hazy vision, Carver just barely made out the words that were written on that small sheet of paper: Don't disappoint us again.

Carver grabbed the sponsor gift and tore the lid off, taking bits of his finger flesh in the process, and found that it contained some kind of light pink jelly product. He recognized what it was. Capitol burn ointment. Carver would had smile and thanked his sponsors, but he was in too much pain and could only focus on his own survival.

Carver scooped up as much of the ointment as he could in one hand and began to smear it all over his face. He then spread it over as much of his burned body as possible, feeling the cold and tingling remedy start to take effect.

Carver used all of it before he gave out a groan.

 _There is still hope._ He thought. _And next time, I won't disappoint them._

The teen then managed to close his one, still functioning, eye, finding some semblance of comfort in the darkness before he passed out into a blissful slumber.

 **A/N: Hey guys, I haven't been feeling very well as of late, so writing this was pretty hard. It doesn't help that things are happening with my mom and a mutual friend of my brother and I. Different things are happening to my mom and our friend of course.**

 **Anyway, thoughts are appreciated.**


	38. Floor Management

Despite how important the work in front of her was, and how much skill was needed to pull it off, she still couldn't help but grumble and curse to herself as she fiddled with the insides of the video camera.

Sure the aviators wouldn't want her to fuck up the damn thing, but she was confident enough that she wouldn't mess the thing up and walk into her own pre-mature death. Because while she didn't consider herself as smart as those geeks in Three, she considered herself a close second, coming from District Five. And even so, she wasn't going to follow the path of The Owl and deliberately destroy the camera and hoped that if all else failed, the aviators wouldn't kill her. She had explained to the camera what she had planned after all and hoped that there would be some semblance of understanding and mercy from the gamemakers if things went wrong.

Sitting on a large and tall metal shelf that held many tools, Anna Leptick navigated through the wires, resistors, transceivers, and everything else that was inside the working video camera that was broadcasting the arena to the country in real time.

 _I was so stupid._ Anna thought as she spat out her spent cigarette and pulled a fresh one from the pack with her mouth. She placed the pack back in her breast pocket before she reached over for the handheld blowtorch, twisted the valve, and pulled the stiff button with a snap, igniting a dull blue flame that gave out a low whooshing noise, and lighted the end of her cancer stick with the flame. Anna then pointed the blowtorch at a resistor and gently melted it ever so slightly until she was able to scrape the goo from the circuit board with a pair of needle nose pliers. _Hope that's the right one_. Anna thought as she turned the valve off, causing the flame to cease to exist. _And I'm not dead yet, so that's a good sign._

The girl did some final touches on the camera's circuit board before she hooked up an artificial antenna, made of flexible wire and an iron nail, to the split broadcast feed she had created within the camera. She adjusted the wire, making sure that it was taut enough and the nail wasn't flopping about until she was satisfied.

Feeling confident that her adjustments had worked, Anna climbed down the shelf, her feet sending tools falling to the ground with nearly every other step, and walked over to a radio that had been left in the room. When Anna had arrived,the only thing that it blared out was static, but now she was hoping that it would sound out more than just that.

The girl arrived at the work bench and turned the knob for the volume. It gave out nothing but static, as expected, so Anna started to every so slowly adjust the frequency, looking for the right one. As she did, the smoke from her mouth formed a foggy and distorted halo above her head.

While searching for the right frequency, Anna tried very, very hard to resist just spinning the knob wildly and randomly and hope that she found the right radio waves quickly rather than idyllically sit and effectively proceed with the monotonous task.

As she resisted to do just that, Anna thought of why she was doing the thing in the first place.

When she had found the small shop, only slightly smaller than the school's classroom back home, full of tools with a workbench and shelves, she considered it a very lucky find. It seemed like a big break from the empty stands and the other useless attractions. The things she could do with the tools were many, and her hopes were high that she could do something special with them.

The place seemed secure enough as it only had a single door that she could easily block off, and it had adequate lighting that cast only half the room in shadows. Of course she had to break into it by repeatedly bashing in the door with her aluminum bat until the knob, dead bolt, and some of the surrounding wood, came crashing down on the other side of the door before she dramatically kicked it open for no other reason than because she felt like it.

Anna had scanned the room, her lightweight weapon ready to strike, and saw nothing to be afraid of, and didn't hear anything of concern either. She did wonder why the door had been locked, but she had rationalized that the gamemakers hadn't wanted the tributes to get into special locations easily. So she kicked the door closed and placed her duffle bag on the workbench and looked for something that could light up her cigarettes as she was starting to crave one badly, being stressed about being in the arena and all.

But as she searched, she swore that the darkness blinked, which she thought wasn't possible. Unable to withhold her curiosity, and hoping beyond hoping that it wasn't what she thought it was, she stared at the corner where she thought she had seen a spot of barely visible white orbs disappear and reappear quickly. And were those stripes of orange?

She stared, and stared, and stared. But nothing happened. Anna blinked and relaxed, telling herself that it was just paranoia before she spat at the wall for scaring her. Only for a figure to abruptly materialize from the darkness and shoulder bash her. Anna's butt scraped the top of the work bench before the back of her head and her actual back hit the wall behind it. Her bat fell from her loosened grip and landed with a bong clunk.

More than a little shocked, Anna gave out a scream as agony washed through the back of her head and chest. An arm pressed against her neck, cutting off her air supply as she hit her attacker with ineffective hammer fists.

Anna recognized her attacker. Dark skin with messy dark hair, brown eyes and a missing lower lip.

"Stay. Away." Diesel Tarbeck half hissed half snarled before he released Anna and retreated out of the shop and not looking back.

Anna tried to give chase, but she had lost him among the maze of concession stands and amusement buildings.

Anna cursed herself up and down as she thought of how she had a bat and could have used that to defend herself against Diesel, but instead, she feebly hit him in the shoulders like an air head damsel in fucking distress. Not only that, but Diesel looked like he had been holding a weapon in his other hand. Anna couldn't see what it was due to it not yet coming out of the duffle bag and because of the less than ideal lighting, but guessing from the way his arm wobbled, it was something heavy and long, like a club or war hammer. _God damn figures._ Anna told herself as she gripped the radio knob tighter and pressed her teeth together, crushing the cigarette filter. _The one time you need your quick reflexes and quick thinking for something useful and you use it to act like a brain dead retard._

Angry at the memory, Anna managed to rip the frequency adjuster clean off the radio. When she saw what she had done, she got even more enraged as her teeth grinded and her brows crinkled _. You absolute fucking moron!_ She screamed in her head as she started to smash her fists onto the work bench, sending tools jumping, clinking and crashing with each pound of her hands. _You god damn, stupid little- EERRRRGGGHHHH! Why? Why? Why? WHY! You'll never go home now! Never see mom and dad and Vida ever again! And why should they? Why would mom and dad want to see me ever again because of all the trouble I've caused. And why would Vida want to marry me of all people? An impulsive brat that was afraid of change, makes her get laughed at by others, kicks her in bed, and has outbursts like a fucking emotional teen still high on puberty. Hell, I'm not even that pretty, so I can't even say she wanted me for my looks!_

 _So why did she say yes to my proposal? Because she felt sorry for me? Because she was worried that I'd go back to the cocaine if she refused? Because she didn't want to hurt my fragile feelings? All I am is a zap chain for her!_

Anna gave out one final, monstrous, double fisted smash that rocked the workbench so hard that the radio managed to tumble off of it with a metallic and hard plastic click clack.

The fit had left Anna breathing heavily as the bottoms of her fists hurt while her eyes threatened to tear up. Her heart beated hard and rapidly and hammered her chest. "Fuck!" She yelled out before she kicked the tool bench, causing rippling pain to course through her foot before she swore again and hissed in discomfort.

After a minute of rage, Anna was finally able to calm down, and a new sensation washed over her. Disappointment. _I'm not a child, I'm a teenager, almost an adult. I shouldn't act like this. But then again, how many times have you told yourself that over the months when your disorder became less severe?_

Taking deep breaths and doing her best to calm down while also calming her beating heart, Anna did her best to not let any tears cascade down her face. Her eyes may have welled up, but she wasn't going to let any fall. She didn't want to look weak, and she also didn't want to appear to be so emotional. _There's no crying in the arena. Those are for little twelve year olds, and no one has sympathy for emotional problems in the arena. You're a big girl Anna, so act like one for once in your miserable life._

Several breaths later, Anna felt calmer, but by no means absolutely calm, before she quickly wiped her eyes once, hoping that it wasn't too obvious, even with the Capitol's high tech cameras.

Anna then looked at the radio that had fallen to the floor and hoped beyond hope that it wasn't broken. Grabbing it, she inspected the broadcasting device thoroughly before she concluded that no lasting damage had been done to it besides a few chips to the outer shell. She was glad for that, but still disappointed in herself, getting so mad like that.

She first tried to get the tuning knob back on, but she had crushed and twisted it ever so slightly that it could no longer fit. Upon looking for an alternate idea, she found that a flat head screwdriver would be able to fit in the coil bolt and turn it.

And so, she moved the screwdriver ever so slowly, carefully listening for the break in the static. And after what seemed like forever, Anna finally heard almost near complete silence before it shifted back to blaring static.

Gasping in delight, causing her forgotten smoke to fall from her mouth, Anna stopped turning the bolt clockwise and turned it counter clockwise the tiniest bit possible a bit at a time until she heard that near complete silence again.

Anticipation gripped her tightly as she pulled the screwdriver away and a smile came to her face. _Time to see if this works._ She thought excitedly as she shouted the first thing she thought of. "Hello!" And at nearly the same time, she heard her voice repeating itself on the radio, with some electronic squelch of course. "Oh my god oh my god oh my god!" Anna said excitedly, which the radio repeated.

Anna then grabbed the radio and a heavy tool before running out at breakneck speed before she stopped slightly less than fifteen feet away from the door. Anna then placed the radio down before she wielded the tool with both hands and threw it into the building.

It resulted in a loud clang, which could also be heard on the radio.

Ecstatic that she now had a way of knowing if her new home had someone other than her inside it, Anna celebrated her accomplishment by giving out a girly squeal of delight, followed by her doing an incredibly girly laugh and dance that resulted in her pumping her fists up and down as she hopped on her feet slightly in place with small movements of her head that made her generator hair move all about. Added in all that was a wide grin.

Anna did her dance for about four seconds before she suddenly stopped mid step. That dance was something that she did when she thought no one was watching as it was incredibly embarrassing. Sure Vida and others had said that it was cute, but she preferred if others didn't see her doing that. Yet, she had forgotten that she was never truly alone as the entire country was watching her.

Feeling her face heat up as it became red, Anna picked up the radio with one hand while turning her blond wig one hundred and eighty degrees to hide her flushed face as she walked back to the shop.

* * *

At first, all he felt was pure, unadulterated anger.

He had that sensation for a while, but then it eventually wore off, and agony started to wash over his body as he groaned and clutched his chest and face, wishing he had extra limbs to comfort his arms and spine and the back of his head. And if anything, he almost wished that more of his body had been burnt due to how much the muscles in his arms, the ones that he could feel, hurt. It was like the muscles within them had been torn apart and were threatening to melt off the bones.

 _Well... What did you expect?_ Nick said to himself as he walked down through the seemingly endless maze of empty fun time stands. _That you could just lift up a giant and not hurt yourself?_ Nick had heard about the adrenaline rushes that people got when they were in life or death situations and how it made people stronger and faster than they normally were and made them near immune to pain. He had also seen some amazing feats done when the aviators broadcasted the games. But what they never told him was how much it made him hurt after. Sure he had expected the pain of Carver's beatings to come and bite him in the ass after the rush faded away, but what he didn't expect was for his own body to betray him like that _. You gave me strength adrenaline rush, so I used it, but you never told me that that burst of strength would tear my muscles apart._ But then again, he kept on telling himself he should have expected that. After all, there was only so much that a human body could do. Especially with a body like his.

With every step, Nick just wanted to lay down and rest, but he needed to get some distance between him and the food stand he had looted and set on fire. He had gathered as many food and useful items as he could, stuffing them into his duffle bag before attempting to turn the rest to ash. And if the size of the fire was any indication, it would do a pretty good job of that unless someone found a fire hose and sprayed out the flames in time. Though he doubted that.

And Nick had overestimated his own strength on the rush as well, and that was backfiring badly as he was forced to abandon cast iron pans that he'd have liked to turn into improvised armor and bottles of vegetable oil that he could have used as slip stain traps, but he told himself that after he found someplace to hole up, he'd go back for them. Even so, he had stuffed in as much food, water, and other light supplies as he could carry and continued to drag himself to someplace relatively safe before someone came looking for him due to the beacon he had lit up.

Readjusting the straps of the duffle bag once again for a slightly more comfortable position, Nick worried that he'd have to abandon the now bare essentials that he was carrying as his shoulders ached. Sweat was running down his face and he could feel the gross dampness mixed in with the thick blood in his mouth. Spitting out a mixture of blood, sweat, and saliva, Nick wobbled slightly and banged his side into an empty drink stand before he slide down the front of the stand and landed with his butt on the ground.

Nick sighed and groaned in a mixture of pain and frustration.

He took the duffle bag off his shoulders to let them rest and craned his head around to look behind him. In the distance, he could still see the glow and plume of smoke coming from the bonfire he had created. The glow and the memory of the bonfire brought him slight arousal, but nothing compared to when he saw the bright, dancing of flames and felt the intense heat warm his body while the smell of sooty smoke filled his nasal cavities. _Who needs sex when you're a pyro and have an inferno?_ Nick thought with a slight and brief chuckle.

From his standing, he figured that he had staggered far enough away from the battle spot. Even so, he kept an eye out for other tributes and those red shirted people that he hadn't recognized. He didn't know who they were, but since this was the arena, he wouldn't put it past them to try and short circuit him if they saw him.

At first he was worried that they'd smell him due to the stove burning his flesh and clothes, or from the smoke of the fire, but they either didn't or they thought that it was nothing of concern and walked past him. Nick was thankful for that, but he knew that he either had to get new clothes and find something to remedy his once again burnt flesh, or find some way to conceal the smell and drag his injured self along. Nick had poured water on them, but because he couldn't smell them, he didn't know if they still stunk of smoke and burning flesh or not.

Looking around, Nick didn't see any immediate signs of danger and decided that he needed to rest for a little bit. Long enough to heal from his adrenaline surge, but not so long that he feel asleep, that could wait after he found some place that wasn't out in the open and he could make a little confident about sleeping.

Making sure that he was out of immediate sight, Nick threw his duffle bag over the concession stand counter before he himself went over the counter and laid beside his supplies, rubbing and stretching his aches.

* * *

She didn't know if she could do it.

After her encounter with Falco she began to think that she wouldn't be able to do well in the arena. Her hopes of going home had been slim at best, but after her failure of trying to kill a fifteen year old, Paige felt her hope and chances falling even lower.

Falco could have easily killed her, but he didn't. She didn't know why, but she did wonder why he didn't do it when he had the chance. He had his machete out, the machete that she wanted to take from him after she had killed him, and yet, he didn't plunge it into her chest nor did he chop her head open with it, like she had expected him to. Instead, he had disappeared, leaving her with everything she owned. He hadn't even bothered taking anything from her for some reason.

Still, even though Falco had done little more than shake her up, she was more mentally wounded than anything else. She felt like a shoe, someone that could easily be pushed around and disposed of. Maybe Falco hadn't killed her because he didn't even deem her a threat? That she wasn't even worth the effort of killing?

Now wandering around the arena some more, Paige still thought of herself as helpless. She had had a chance to prove herself, but she blew it. The aviators were probably laughing at her and her chances of getting sponsor gifts had dropped.

She wondered if her dad would try to send something, but there was just as big a chance that she'd get nothing from her dad.

Looking down at the headphones in her hand, Paige asked herself once again why the Capitol had given her that instead of something practical. Like a knife or something.

 _Maybe I can find a better weapon somewhere else_. Paige told herself after wandering around a little after Falco had shown her mercy. But the problem was that no matter how many stands she had looked in, they were empty. It was like the entire arena was taunting her. Paige wondered if she was doomed to try and find someone else and attempt to try and strangle them before she found something better. Though if she couldn't even handle Falco, the ones she could handle were slim. She'd have to find someone like Ashton or Dayta. Someone that was just as bad at fighting as her and not very strong. Of course, Ashton and Dayta could be guarded by Ryan or the bronholes. _Face it Paige, you're one of the weaker tributes, and you've been dealt the low quality cotton. You're weak with a shitty weapon, if you can even call it a weapon. But what's worse is that you've got no allies to protect you either._

Thinking about that made her feel even worse, because every tribute in the arena had something going for them. They were either strong, experienced with fighting, or both. And if they weren't, they had someone that was one or both. Sure, Ivy didn't look all that much, but that was because when people thought of District Seven they thought of Carver. But even so, District Seven tributes were stronger than District Eight tributes, and Ivy had a father as a victor.

What did Paige have? The urge to steal? What good was stealing if there was nothing to steal? She felt like giving up for a while.

But then she noticed something in the distance. It was something different than the rest of the buildings that she had encountered besides the theater in which she had woken up in. It was a tall building compared to the copious amounts of food and prize stands that seemed to litter the arena. Two levels tall and slightly wide with perfectly symmetrical square windows placed evenly apart of each other. It looked special, and if there was something that Paige needed it was someplace special.

Paige breathed out a breath of relief before she started to jog up to the building, feeling her spirits lift. She looked at the building to see if she could spot any other tributes or mutts inside, but she didn't see anything, which made her thankful as she didn't want to run into any other things at the moment. Not until she had something better than something you could only strangle someone with, and who knew what the other tributes had.

The closer she got to the building, the more excited Paige got, but the more scared she got due to the chance of her running into someone else as well.

Reaching the set of double doors, Paige slowly opened the door, worried that something was going to come out and jump at her. However, part way through opening the door, Paige had seen and heard nothing, and nothing was getting in her way. Paige peeked inside, and saw that while there was a heavy, stainless steel desk that looked like it couldn't be moved with brute force and an open hallway, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Slowly slipping inside with the door only partly open, Paige continued to look to make sure that she was alone and that she didn't make too much noise in case someone else was in there.

She thought of those red shirted people that were obviously not tributes, and wondered if she'd have to meet them up close. Sure she had managed to sneak around some of them due to her not wanting to get into a fight, but that didn't mean that she'd be able to do it all the time, as much as she'd have liked that.

So besides the twenty three other tributes that arrived in the Capitol with her, she had to worry about other people as well. She knew that they were more than likely mutts, but they weren't like the usual mutts. They talked like they did, had conversations with each other, seemed more like real people than some wild creations that the aviators liked to unleash on the unfortunate tributes. And to Paige, that seemed more frightening than the uncanny abominations that the arenas were oh so used to.

Paige wondered if the mutts were made to look like people in an attempt to desensitize some of the more passive tributes. After all, there were tributes that had a hard time killing other tributes. They weren't killers, and the aviators got most of their entertainment by watching tributes kill tributes, so it was no fun for them if everyone but the bronholes did the killing as the games could last for weeks if that were true. Because as much as the aviators liked the games, they didn't want to watch a whole lot of nothing.

Fortunately for the aviators, the bronholes weren't always the only ones that were willing to kill.

Paige didn't want to kill anyone, but she knew that in the end, it was the only way to get home.

Closing the door behind her, Paige looked around the front entrance, and found nothing that she could use.

Knowing that she wasn't that lucky, Paige continued to explore the front entrance area. Besides the desk, there seemed to be nothing else within the large, off square room. The walls were eggshell white and at the opposite end of the entrance doors was another set of doors that lead somewhere else. To the left and right were also a set of doors that lead somewhere else.

Paige first checked the doors to the left and right, and saw that they both lead to long, narrow hallways that were decorated with the same eggshell white walls and a multitude of doors all evenly spaced out from one another. Paige felt as if those two rooms were the same as the arena outside of the building, full of empty that lured tributes to them in the hopes that they'd actually find something.

Paige decided to try her luck with the last door, and found herself in a room completely different than the last. Instead of the eggshell white walls, the walls were painted a warm and comforting pineapple yellow. The room also had a form of elegance to it that included chandlers and fancy, shiny, tables and chairs. Nothing in the room seemed to be out of place, and it looked like something that jumped straight of the Capitol. Compared to the rest of the arena, which seemed to have an air of menace to it, this room seemed completely out of place as it felt more peaceful.

Thinking back to the nightclub that she and some of the other tributes had gone to the night before, she thought that this place was even better looking than that place. _It, was last night right? Can't tell the time here with the sky always being dawn or something._

Paige went over to a chair and tried to lift it up to use as a bludgeoning in case she meet up with someone or something, but she discovered that it had to be bolted to the floor or something. It was the same with the rest of the chairs and the table. _Why are they all bolted down?_ Sighing, Paige continued on her quest to find supplies.

Admiring the setting, Paige nearly missed the door going into another room. Once again, she cautiously opened the door and looked inside. Inside the room it was a mellow white. It contained porcelain tile floors and stainless steel counters. All in seemingly immaculate condition. But there were two things that caught Paige's eyes. First off, there were stoves and griddles and ovens and cupboards lining along the edges of the walls. It told her that it was a kitchen sort of set up. While in the center of the room, on top of a stainless steel counter, was a small pile of food and drinks.

Paige gasped as she looked at the pile and couldn't wait to get her hands on it.

Smiling, the girl opened the door and walked in towards the supplies.

Paige walked quickly and got only two steps in when she suddenly slipped. Paige gasped again, this time with surprise and fear this time as her feet left the floor and she fell backwards.

Paige briefly wondered why the floor was so smooth it was slippery before she hit the door behind her and felt a terrible pain in her back. Like, literally, in her back. The teenage girl screamed as she removed herself from the door and grabbed her back, wondering what could have caused her so much pain as she didn't think the door itself could have given her that much pain, even if she had hit the door knob.

Paige reached over to where she felt the most pain in her back and felt something protruding from her flesh. Fearing the worst, Paige pulled it out of her back, and felt pure agony wash through her back as she let out another loud scream.

The thing had gone through the duffle bag hanging over her back like a backpack, so Paige had to remove it from that as well. Paige brought the item to her face and saw that it was a butter knife that was partly coated with wet blood. Her blood.

The girl's eyes started to tear up due to just being stabbed in the back and fell to her knees before she collapsed onto the shiny tiled floor. Paige swore up and down because of her clumsiness before a sudden thought hit her. That the butter knife had been placed on the door inside the kitchen, and when she had slipped, she had landed right where that knife had been. It was then that Paige knew that it had been a trap, but how could she not have spotted it?

Curiosity took a hold of her as she slowly crawled forwards, palming the floor surface for answers before she slipped once again, her palms sliding across the smooth porcelain, this time forwards and she landed on her face.

 _It's like this part of the floor has no friction at all._ Paige thought with a groan as she ran her face hand across the ultra smooth floor. But she felt more than just smooth tile, she felt something else to, a thin layer of something over the tiles. And up close to the tiles, she also smelt a chemical like stench as well. One that she was very familiar with. _We use that cleaning material for the textile machines back in District Eight!_ Paige thought as she knew that that cleaning material was applied to the machines in order for them to run faster and run smoother as it made the machine parts clean and smooth like it was coated in grease or something.

Sniffing the floor once again, Paige confirmed that it was indeed that cleaning material.

Wiping her eyes and rubbing her face, Paige looked at the floor again and noticed that up ahead that there were more odd things up ahead as well. It was subtle, but she could differently see the changes in white.

Scattered haphazardly were broken pieces of ceramic nearly the same colour as the tiles. Worse, mixed in with the ceramic were shards of jagged glass. If she had decided to crawl or slip forwards a little further, she could have had her arms, hands, and face sliced open.

Wanting to take those supplies before someone arrived due to bad luck or her screams, Paige used her arm to attempt to sweep the jagged shards away, only to feel her skin being sliced open like they were sharp nails.

Crying out in agony as she pulled her arm away, Paige discovered that while not all of the shards were glued to the floor, enough of them were that it caused the side of her left arm to have red ribbons start to grow and melt down her arm like liquid wax.

So she couldn't stand otherwise she'd slip and fall onto the glass and impale herself, and she couldn't crawl otherwise she'd do the same to her hands and knees.

Paige backed away and decided to crawl across the stoves, even if she couldn't be very high due to the cupboards being above the stoves, ovens, and griddles. But she got on very slowly and very cautiously. Paige crawled slowly, and thought that she was going to be able to get part way across the room before she could jump to the small stack of food. But she didn't get very far before she felt heat on her left hand. She felt it soon enough and was going slow enough to avoid burning her palm on the hot stove top.

Pulling it away and backing up slightly, Paige saw that while the stove was on, the elements weren't glowing red or anything. The stoves were hot enough to burn someone painfully, but weren't hot enough to be glowing. Paige looked at the stove temperature controls, and saw that the knobs had been ripped off, rendering it impossible to turn off by hand.

Paige was about to try her luck with jamming the butter knife into where the knob would be when she saw the door on the other side of the kitchen burst open.

Paige gasped when she saw the thing enter the kitchen and look at her. Though the figure was only about five feet tall, they were muscular and had a white pillow sack over their head. The two of them looked at each other for a split second before the two of them reacted. Paige backed away as quickly as she could, while the pillow head pulled a red cylinder from their leather bandolier and quickly withdrew a match with their free hand. The figure then lifted one of their legs and lit the match with the rough out-soles of their shoe before it brought the flame to the cylinder and let sparks fly every which way from the wick.

Paige gasped in fright when she saw the sparks and rolled off the counter by pure instinct. Unfortunately, it made her arms land right into the sea of glass and broken ceramic. Feeling like large teeth were biting into her arms, Paige cried out in agony once again when she saw the red cylinder land in front of her. Screaming, Paige ripped her duffle bag off her back and scrambled backwards right before she threw the bag onto the explosive.

The bag landed on the explosive device a second before it blew, causing the entire room to rock. Paige felt the shock wave, blowing her roughly onto her back like someone had shoved her, just as sharp ringing occurred in her ears as she became temporarily disorientated. Paige felt hot liquid start to come out of her nose as well.

She knew that it could have been worse as the bag had absorbed some of the blast and most of the shrapnel. Bits of canvas, tile, plastic, and food rained down like tainted ash as Paige noticed a scorch mark and a rough hole in the tile where the bag and explosive used to be.

Paige turned to the door in her confused state and saw that there was another butter knife embedded in the bottom part of the door. She at first thought that it was another part of the trap until she saw that a piece of canvas and a chunk of plastic was around it and the knife had impaled the door with the handle sticking out. Paige then realized that she could have been stabbed with a second butter knife when she had first entered, but for some reason, something inside the duffle bag had saved her. More than likely the knife had stabbed the water bottle instead of her.

Paige crawled out of the kitchen and ran away from the room, knowing that there was nothing that she could do and that she didn't stand a chance against explosions. Not in that room.

She couldn't see properly and was disoriented, she so crashed into the bolted down chairs and tables, causing ripples of pain to cascade through her body with every impact.

She made it out of the yellow room and ran out of the entrance of the building and didn't look back.

She had nearly gotten killed, had gotten injured, was bleeding, lost her supplies, and only gained a butter knife for her troubles.

 **A/N: It's been a while since I've done this fic. Hopefully it's still kind of decent.**


	39. Spirited Away

Even though he had wrapped up his worst wounds, Spark Gambel was beginning to feel the effects of blood loss thanks to the numerous other wounds he had received due to that short person with the compact explosives.

Spark thought of how stupid the decision of jumping out of the window while it was still closed had been and told himself that he should have at least opened it up first. But in the heat of battle, the only thing he had been thinking of was escaping the blast radius and not being blown to bits. He seriously doubted that he'd have been turned into chunky bits of meat by said explosive, but no doubt it would have probably gave him a concussion, made him deaf, and make him bleed from the ears, if not worse.

Still, his arms were started to feel like they were falling asleep as needles coursed through his veins and occasional chills ran up and down his body. Not only that, but he was getting tired. And though it was far from the worst case of blood loss ever, Spark didn't want to get any weaker and didn't want the symptoms to become more severe.

Deciding that he'd rather show the world his skinny legs and be ashamed was better than bleeding to death, Spark tore off the legs of his black pants with his generator set of teeth before turning them into long rectangles and wrapping them around the rest of his wounds, doing his best with the wounds on his back, making him look like some sort of half assed wrapped present.

Spark had thought of how he had seen his fellow neons wrap up special presents that they wanted to present someone. When something was wrapped up, you know that it was something that really meant something to the giver. The one on the receiving end knew that it was something special, but what they made of it was up to them.

The dims on the other hand, rarely packaged anything and just gave the item straight out. But if they did want to make it a surprise, they either kept it in their pocket or it was very crudely wrapped with whatever shanty materials they could find.

A story that Anna had told Spark of was of a surprise she had made for someone, presenting them with their... Gift... Of sorts, in a box made of cardboard and held together with wire. To Spark, it wasn't really all that classy thanks to him being a neon and thinking that the package should have been a little more decorated, but dims like Anna took what they could get and made the most of it.

Thinking about that, it just made Spark think about how the dims were better than neons in another way. The dims weren't as materialistic as them, and were happy with what they got, no matter how shitty it was.

Of course, neons were happy with receiving gifts as well, Spark made no mistake of that, but the dims seemed to appreciate the simplistic things while neons like him took them for granted.

Sitting down and recovering his strength, Spark told himself not to go to sleep. He couldn't go to sleep. Not this early in the arena. There wasn't anywhere that he deemed safe enough to sleep yet. Sure he had numerous empty stands that he could choose from, but with the amount of people like mutts running around, Spark rationalized that choosing something as open as that to sleep in was just asking to be lightning rodded.

 _Should have just used my t-shirt instead of the undershirt._ Spark told himself, thinking of how he was thin bodied and less blood was needed in order for things such as bleeding out to occur. But at the same time, Spark was embarrassed about his body. He was embarrassed by how it looked, what he had done to it, and how it had came to be and didn't want the world to see it if he could help it.

 _You did this to yourself you stupid fat fuck_. A darker voice in his mind spoke out to him. Spark didn't try to fight it as he knew that it was right. He wanted to stop the dims from making fun of him, so he risked it all and lost. Big time. He wondered if his parents had been right when they kept on telling him that he should have just tried to accept the bigoted neons for who they were, even though he didn't like any of them other than Watt.

Sighing and smacking himself in the head several times before he cleansed his mind for the moment, Spark sat up and continued on his way, looking for someplace that could possibly contain a first aid kit so that his wounds wouldn't get infected and he wouldn't have to tear off anymore of his clothing than he already had.

He looked through empty food stands in a futile attempt to find anything while avoiding the patrolling mutts until he found a building that looked like it had some potential.

Like the tall, symmetrical building that he had found the ice machine in, Spark figured that that building might have something of use inside of it and headed towards it at a cautious pace, fearful that another tribute could be inside of it just like at the last one he had been at.

Spark made a plan to run if he encountered another tribute, but he also made a plan to fight if he had to as he got his set of serrated teeth ready inside his mouth.

Taking a few deep breaths, Spark walked through the set of double doors and came upon a room that was of a relaxing white colour. It had a stout desk in the center of the room with a giant golden plaque above it, telling Spark that this place was called a spa and it was where people went to relax their troubles away. Spark continued to think that the gamemakers had a sick sense of humor as he once again thought of the weapon they had given him and what the arena was turning out to be in his mind.

 _First a place with rooms that look more of less the same with a cozy atmosphere until someone tries to blow you up. Now there's this place called a spa where you relax your troubles away. Yeah..._

Turning away from the cheerful sign, Spark started to explore the so called spa and came across cushioned tables with holes in them, giant bathtubs, and other things that Spark didn't understand, but knew that the aviators more than likely knew what they were.

The relaxing white walls did nothing to calm Spark down as he continued to explore for the medic station, because there had to be a first aid station in a place like this... Right? A place as big as it was couldn't just be empty and devoid of supplies.

While Spark was hopeful, he also didn't want to get his hopes up too high in case the entire building gave him a big load of nothing. And if anything, he wouldn't have been surprised to come out of the building with nothing but disappointment as the aviators seemed to like fucking with him.

Going around the building, Spark checked some closets to find that they contained nothing, but further into the building, he found a supply closet of sorts that contained some white sheets and some towels on some shelves and inside a large bin on wheels that he could use. Spark happily went over to the clean white sheets, thinking about how he could use them for blankets and bandages, as well as clothes if he needed to.

Spark scratched at his wounds and thought of how his clothes weren't the most sterile of materials just as he heard a noise come from above him. It sounded like weak metal being dented, like something heavy was inside hollow vents and moving about, or a hot blast of heat was flowing through the vents. But Spark couldn't feel any sort of heat being generated in the building. Not only that, but it was too rough sounding to be the simple act of heat blowing through the vents. And really, it didn't sound like hot air blowing around at all.

Looking up and getting closer to where the sound was coming from, Spark got curious to what was up in the ceiling. Spark expected the ceiling to collapse on him as a square piece of the ceiling fell and landed on the floor. Nearly a second later he saw a blond haired girl in an off white dress fall into the cart full of sheets right in front of him. Her falling so close to him startled him and he gave out a gasp of surprise.

"Oh my god!" Spark cried out as he stumbled backwards to get some distance away from her, fearful for his life as he thought of the pillow sack head girl and how she had nearly killed him not too long ago.

However, the girl in front of him gave out her own fearful shriek before she, herself, crawled backwards in the cart full of sheets the best she could, looking silly in the process as she flailed her arms about and didn't back away that far before she ran out of room to move.

"Stay b- Back!" The girl shouted as everything from her legs down was lost in the cart and her back was pressed on the edge of said cart. "I've got a knife!" Spark then saw that in her right hand was a handle of a knife that appeared to have no blade. Spark tilted his head slightly in confusion before a blade suddenly sprang out from the side of the handle with an intimidating snap that echoed lightly inside the storage closet. "And... And I'm not afraid to use it!" The girl continued as she swung the small weapon around in an attempt to appear as intimidating as the snapping of the switchblade.

And Spark might have found it intimidating if not for a few factors. First off, the girl had a voice that radiated terror, she looked silly with the position she was in, Spark had just escaped from a tribute that was much more menacing and dangerous than her, and last but not least, it was Ashton Meeker, someone that no tribute had been afraid of.

Spark knew that Ashton could attack him with her knife, but he hoped that she wouldn't and would come to an understanding with him.

"Hey hey hey!" Spark said quickly, still spooked at Ashton's sudden entrance as he raised his hands into the air. "I'm not looking for a fight, all I want is some of those sheets, that's all."

"Uh huh. Sure, not to fight you say." Ashton said with skepticism in her voice. "Did you say that to your last victim as well?" Spark was confused with that statement until he remembered the way that his body was coiled with bits of fabric and had smeared blood that he hadn't completely cleaned off. "Did you bite their face off as you talked about peace?" And those damn teeth...

"God, Ashton, do I look like someone that atta-." Spark stopped mid sentence as he realized what a stupid question it was before he tried to change the way things were going. "I got attacked. With explosives. I jumped out a mother fucking window. My legs and ass still hurt from the fall."

"Likely story. Explosives? Where did that happen and who did it?"

"They did have explosives, and I don't know who did it as their face was covered. And it happened over there." Spark told her as he pointed to the general direction of where he had been attacked. "Look, Ashton, I know that we didn't really spend much time with each other during our days in The Capitol, but I think right now, an alliance can benefit us both. I mean, no offense, but you don't seem to be much of a fighter, and Ryan doesn't seem to be by your side either. And I could use the assistance as well."

"What makes you think that I can trust you?" Ashton asked as she started to stand in an upright position. "I've seen enough of the games to know what can happen to alliances. And no offense Spark, but I don't know you all that well."

"Well you've been outside, right? You've seen the mutts that have been walking around. They're like people, Ashton, and that makes them scarier than they usually are, and they're walking around in packs. How long do you think you can avoid them? Because I don't know if I can evade them forever. And if a fight with them were to come, I'd like someone to help me. Not only that, but how long before another tribute comes here? A bronhole, or someone like Carver or Zora? From what I've seen, places like these contain things tributes want, and sooner or later, they'll be here."

"Okay okay," Ashton said with understanding. "You've made your point. Fine, we can be an alliance for now. Just... Have you seen Ryan anywhere?"

"No, I haven't." Spark told her truthfully as he had no idea where that guy was. He was thankful for that however, as Ryan was extreme emotions personified and you never knew what could happen next with him around. Spark still remembered the time Ryan had smacked Ashton across the face and wondered why she was still on good terms with him. But then again, you aren't all that clean either.

Spark stepped towards the sheets when Ashton started to jab her knife towards him.

"Don't come close to me! Just because we're an alliance doesn't mean that I fully trust you not to bite my neck off _." I feel very insulted by that remark._ Spark said to himself as it seemed that no matter what seemed to happen, there was always something about eating since he had gotten reaped. _The escort telling me to eat, the gamemakers giving me these teeth, you talking about me biting people..._ He internally sighed.

"Fine. Fine." Spark said with a tired tone as he raised his hands up a second time. "I just wanted some sheets, that's all."

"Oh..." Ashton said with embarrassment. "Well... Um... Where you going to put them? Because it seems that you don't have a duffle."

 _That's... An excellent question._

* * *

Between the fiery pain in his chest, the screaming inside his head, and the constant paranoia that was casting a storm within his mind, Diesel Tarbeck felt like he was in Hell. The bloody chest wound had stained the front of his hooded jacket and looked like it had no intention of stopping, or even slowing as he felt it being absorbed into the fabric, making it stick to his chest and causing an inching sensation to course through.

The ghosts were berating him for allowing himself to get snuck up on by the scab faced girl, berating him for letting her go, telling him that he should have killed her, the other, darker skinned girl, and the red shirts that had been chasing him. Screaming at him, telling him that he should just give his soul to them then and there as he wasn't worthy of having one.

To make matters worse, Diesel knew that no matter where he went in the arena, that he was going to be in danger. That paranoia he was feeling wasn't paranoia, but the truth that he was being hunted by more than just humans. That he was being hunted by things that weren't humans, but took the forms of them in order to create a false sense of familiarity about them.

Those people in the red shirts were mutts, artificial creations made by the aviators for the diabolical purpose of infecting the arena with terror. And it worked to a great effect.

But Diesel was used to having things that weren't human coming after him. After all, he had been haunted for years before the mutts came into his life. It's what separated him from the others for as long as he could remember.

Diesel, while he liked people in general, it was hard for him to tell who to trust and who not to trust as his warped and distorted thoughts confused and terrified him. Couple that with angered spirits that told him to trust no one and nothing and things got even tougher.

But if there was one thing that made Diesel avoid people the most, it was that he was afraid of hurting them. Because the ghosts that floated around him were not nice things, and they would often want him to do things that weren't nice either. They'd want him to hurt other people to satisfy their sick nature. Diesel didn't want to do those deeds, finding it easier to slice himself up and draw blood from his own body rather than spill the blood of the innocent.

Sometimes it was tough though, as he was prone to outbursts and would shout at people and maybe shove them around a bit, but he never really wanted to hurt them. He did his best to not hurt people if they didn't deserve it, but at times, when he was enraged and the ghosts were encouraging him to harm them, it made things difficult. After all, if multiple ghosts kept on persisting that he cut someone up day after day, hour by hour, how long could you resist until you finally gave in and did it?

And that is why, as well as the gradual increase of indifference of being alone or with others, Diesel preferred to live in solitary. And he didn't have any use in society, as much as he'd have liked to be a functioning part of District Six, he didn't think that he could be.

So he left the friends he had made. Or did they leave him? Diesel couldn't remember, but in the end, it didn't really matter did it? They were away from him, and it was just one less thing to be scared of.

The pills the medics gave to him stopped the ghosts from behind heard, seen, and felt, but they made him feel sick, drowsy, and put his mind in a fog that was hard to clear. And they didn't always work either, because if there was an opening, the ghosts would weld a hole through the barrier and persist that he stop taking the meds. And he would, because he didn't like the feelings the pills gave him and the ghosts could be quite convincing. And even with the pills he could still hear them, even if they were working, and at times, he could still see them as well.

He couldn't escape the ghosts, ever. And in the arena, with him in distress, they seemed to be even more powerful than before.

Through unfocused eyes, Diesel looked at the spirit that was staring at him with those devilish black eyes that he had came to become so used to as it traced it's bony, slimy fingers over his face.

It told him that no matter how far he ran, he's always be hunted while he was in the arena. That the girls he had spared were going to come for him and were going to kill him because he had stalled and dropped at the chance. They told him how he was going to die and it was all his fault, that his soul was going to be their's no matter what he did, and that he should kill each and every fucker in the arena.

Diesel, now tightly clutching the heavy mace that was in his hands, knew what to do.

He didn't like it, but it had to be done.

 _This has to end._ The teenager told himself. _This all has to end._

* * *

He knew what he did was wrong and was still kicking himself in the ass for what he had done.

"Damn it." Falco growled out once again as he smashed the side of his fist into the wooden food stand, sending waves of torment through said fist. "Damn it. Damn it. Damn it." He repeated as he continuously smashed his fist into the wood, feeling more and more upset with himself as the memory of running away from Paige continued to plague his thoughts and how much people must be making fun of him at the moment because of the weakness he had shown.

 _She was a perfect target. Defenseless. At my mercy. But I couldn't kill her. I just... Couldn't._

And even after all the self ass kicking he had done to himself, he still didn't think that he could have pulled off the deed that needed to be done. Falco was still the pony to his greatest weakness, and he just knew that that was what would get him killed in the arena, when half the competition was women.

 _Can't hurt the girls._ He told himself as he thought of how his father had taught him the lesions too well. Mentally beat it into his head until he heard the lesions in his sleep. And the few times Falco had lost his temper at girls when he was younger got his father to punch and kick him, making him feel as helpless as the girls were portrayed to be. And when the beatings were done, his father would whip his hands with his thick and sturdy belt until they were raw and red.

So every time he even thought of punching a girl, he saw his dad punching him. And while he knew that girls were far from defenseless, it didn't stop men from taking advantage of their size and strength to get what they wanted.

 _Now everyone in District Ten probably thinks that I don't want to come home all that badly._ A pause in his thoughts came before he started to think again. _Should have killed her. Should have fucking killed her. I've got no problem slaughtering and skinning them female animals, so doing it to a human shouldn't be all that different... Right?_

Falco thought of putting the machete into Paige's head, but an image of his pissed off father holding a machete over his head made Falco shutter.

Sighing and rubbing his fist, Falco wondered if there was even any hope that he could win the game with the unfortunate inability to harm women. Even worse were the thoughts of whether people wanted him back in District Ten or not. After all, he was quite the trouble maker back home and people didn't really want to be around him because of his reputation as a sister fucker and wanting to keep people away from his older sister.

They thought it was because he wanted her all to himself, but it was just to protect her from the bastards that were out there to harm her. He wanted to keep her safe, and those subtle signs that people had insidious intentions weren't lost on him.

 _There's nothing wrong with me. People want to do things to her, and somehow, she always chooses the worst people to be around. And because of the persecutory delusional disorder I've been labeled with by the medics, it just gives those fucks an excuse to tell my sister to ignore my warnings._

Looking at the large metal wheel in the distance, Falco wondered if the cycle was doomed to go on forever. Like chasing the rabbits in the fields of District Ten. No matter what you did or how much you did it, the pests kept on coming back. Still, there was one good thing that came out of catching those rabbits. Extra food.

Falco thought of how he'd actually like some rabbit to eat instead of whatever was inside that package he was carrying inside the duffle bag.

Running his hand roughly through his hair, Falco also wished that he could go back to the simple days when he was actually chasing rabbits with his friends during the dog days. When he had friends. Before all that shit happened.

Hitting his fist on the wood again, Falco tried to think of who was more stupid. Him for not keeping his actions in check and letting everyone know what he thought was really happening, or everyone else for denying what was in front of their faces.

But whoever was at fault in the district became a distant concern as Falco's mind came crashing back to the present as an explosion of pure torment blew up in his face as the heavy part of a mace struck him, causing the other side of his head to hit the counter of the food stand as a spray of blood escaped his mouth along with a couple of teeth.

Falco yelled in agony before he pushed himself off the food stand and avoided a second mace attack that rocked the stand and sent splinters flying as the wooden counter cracked apart.

On one hand, Falco wanted to grab the left side of his face, which had been greatly lacerated and was now pouring out blood thanks to the mace and groan. But on the other hand, Falco knew that he was being attacked and needed to defend himself. So he compromised with the best thing he could think of.

With his left hand, he grabbed his face and felt the hot blood and torn strips of skin that were flapping about, and with his right hand, pulled out his machete and started to swing at his attacker.

"Mother fucker!" Falco screamed as he swung at the tribute's side and managed to slice a horizontal wound on the bottom part of the ribs. His attacker gave out their own scream as Falco, used to using a machete due to working at a slaughter house for a while, quickly followed up with a powerful back handed chop to the attacker's right shoulder.

The farmer's weapon struck true as the blade broke a bone and entered the socket with a sickening and wet sounding crack. A deafening scream instantly followed as Falco's attacker let go of the heavy mace and let it fall to the ground with a booming bang.

Falco pulled at the machete, but was unable to free it from it's new prison as it was wedged in between shoulder bones and was being stubborn. Falco tugged and tugged, making him and his attacker move side to side, compete with loud screams and frustration.

It wasn't until Falco decided to press his foot onto the hostile tribute's side and kick him away that the machete finally slid out of the socket.

Pressing his teeth tightly, groaning deeply, and taking his hand away from the injured part of his face, Falco quickly looked at his left hand and saw that it was covered in hot crimson liquid along with strips of tanned flesh. It was in that instant that Falco saw that his face was literally coming apart. _Son of a bitch! This fucking hurts!_

Wiping his left hand on his shirt, Falco once again looked at his attacker, and saw that it was Diesel Tarbeck of District Six.

Falco couldn't remember seeing him that often during training, or during his time in The Capitol in general, but he did remember that Diesel mentioned ghosts or something during the interviews when him and Lexus were too frightened to even come out.

Was this it? Were the ghosts telling him to attack him and Diesel was carrying out their command?

Diesel turned towards Falco, and Falco saw that in addition to the wounds that he had inflected on Diesel, there was a diagonal slash across his chest that he had failed to cover.

Falco saw Diesel reach for the mace with his left hand, as his right arm was totally useless and nearly half severed off. Falco didn't know if Diesel would be strong enough to use a weapon as heavy as the mace with one arm, but he wasn't going to give him a chance. The farmer boy ran to Diesel and shoulder checked him in the chest with all his strength.

The older boy's lower body hit the food stand while his upper body fell onto the serving counter.

Falco then swung his machete back and was ready to plunge it into Diesel's skull with a mighty swing. _Like meat on a chopping block._ Falco thought as Diesel muttered out the words.

"Do it."

Falco heard the words that came out of Diesel's mouth, but didn't process the words until his machete had stopped halfway into his face. The machete had split Diesel's face in two, starting from the crown of his head to about the middle of his nose. Large spots of blood flew from Diesel's head, with some landing on Falco's face. The blood that didn't fly from Diesel's head started to run out of the vertical wound.

Falco thought of the words Diesel had said before he died and tried to make sense of it. _Was he accepting his death?_ Falco wondered. He thought of several other things that it could have meant before he told himself that he shouldn't be dwelling of such things when his face started to flare up again and he could taste the sick metallic in his mouth.

Groaning and taking a step away from Diesel's corpse, leaving the machete wedged in his skull, Falco once again touched the left side of his face and felt hot blood and flaps of skin that had been torn apart and opened. The second he palmed the wounds he hissed and pulled his hand away as he could feel the inside of his face. And while his flesh hadn't been stripped to the bone, it still stung like wildfire as the very air around him irritated the wounds.

The inside of his mouth wasn't fairing much better either, as the inside of his cheek had dug into and dragged across his teeth. Falco's tongue moved around inside and felt a gap where some of his teeth had been.

Inside and out of his mouth, blood ran out profusely.

The teenager didn't know if any bones had been broken, but with the way his left cheekbone felt, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that it had been fractured.

Falco looked at Diesel and came up with a plan.

After struggling to get his machete out of the dead man's head, Falco stripped Diesel of his sweatshirt and t-shirt and cut the shirt into stripes and a single large square. Falco used one of Diesel's water bottles to soak the fabric square before placing it on the injured part of his face, feeling the cool water wash against his injuries, making them still sting, but not as much. Falco then wrapped a couple of strips around to secure the square snugly so that it wouldn't fall off and wouldn't hurt him too badly.

The teenager pressed his hand on his face, wanting the pain to stop, and held it there for several seconds before he released it and took Diesel's supplies with him, leaving the spare duffle bag behind. And though he didn't smoke, he also didn't know if they could be used later. He also left the mace behind as it was too heavy and bulky for his liking, preferring the machete anyway.

 _So... You killed someone._ Falco thought to himself as he walked away _. It doesn't feel as bad as people make it out to be. But then again, you did kill in self defense as he was trying to kill you first. Right?_

Falco thought of those words. Do it. Added with that the fight hadn't even been that tough, Falco wondered if Diesel had attacked him for the very purpose of dying.

Sighing and shaking his head, Falco told himself to leave that behind him as it wasn't something that he could figure out anytime soon. But what he did think about was how weird he felt about killing someone and not being overcome with guilt and sadness, like he had seen others in games before him. _Ain't I supposed to feel sick or something? Because I feel fine, besides the hurt face that is._

Falco seriously wondered if that was something that he should be concerned about.

 **A/N: For this fic, I'm going to need some time to get back into the grove of things.**


	40. Seeking Supplies

_"Get out!" Berry Marlowe bellowed to the group of teenagers that were inside the house. "Get the hell out! All of you! Now!" As if to make her point on how important it was for them to get out of the home as quickly as they could, the woman swung around a large ax with ruthless force._

 _The teenagers were frightened by the display, not expecting to actually run into someone within the victor's house, let alone someone that looked like they were going to murder them. So they did the rational thing and ran, because while there were five of them, harming a victor's wife was a great way to get the peacekeepers to come after them, and none of them wanted to get on the bad side of a peacekeeper._

 _Among the teenagers was sixteen year old Ivy Marlowe, who was currently trying to flee the scene as well. Not because she was afraid of her mother killing her, but because she didn't want to get scolded and yelled at. Not only that, but because she had stolen some things from her father and she didn't want her mother to find it in her jacket pockets. She didn't want her time wasted nor did she want her mother discovering what was inside the pockets._

 _Ivy was about to run out of the house when a hand grabbed the collar of her jacket and yanked her back so roughly that it briefly cut off her air supply and made her gag. Ivy tried to get out of her mother's grip, but she found herself being flung back into the house before sprawling out on the floor. "Oh no you don't! You're not going anywhere little miss!"_

 _"Hey!" One of the teenage boys cried out as he discovered that Ivy wasn't coming with them. He turned back and faced Berry and snarled at her with a furious stare and looked quite intimidating with the whites of his eyes tinted a faint, ugly yellow. "She owes us-" He was cut off by the sharp part of an axe hitting the door frame mere inches away from his face. A chunk of the doorway flew into the air as the boy's bravado was shattered nearly instantly before he turned tail and fled with the rest of his friends._

 _"She doesn't owe any of you jack shit!" Berry screamed at them, pulling the ax free from the door frame. "And if I see any of you again in my house you'll wish it were the peacekeepers coming after you!"_

 _With that being said, Berry slammed the door shut before turning towards her daughter with a look of disappointment coupled with anger._

 _"Mom!" Ivy cried out as she got to her feet and rubbed the front of her neck. "What the fuck was that for? You can't just act all psycho on my friends for no reason!"_

 _"It wasn't for no reason and you know it," Berry said with a scolding tone. "And those saplings are not your friends."_

 _Ivy grunted with annoyance, angry that her mother was denying that what she had done was wrong and chasing off her friends. Ivy was also embarrassed, because who's mom chases out their daughter's friends with an ax? What kind of mother actually tries to kill their daughter's friends?_ A horrible one, that's what.

 _"They are so my friends." Ivy growled. "Just because you don't like them doesn't give you the right to make me have to leave them. I can hang out with whoever I want."_

 _"I forbid you from hanging around with those kindlings," Berry informed sternly. "They're nothing but trouble and aren't your real friends."_

 _"How would you know?" Ivy asked with hostility. "You never liked any of my previous friends, so why should I expect you to like them?"_

 _"I liked a few of them," Berry explained. "But these ones are just using you."_

 _"You think all of them are using me!" Ivy shouted as she jabbed an index finger onto her own chest multiple times at a rapid pace. "You think that all my friends are using my victor relationship status for their own personal gain! Well it's not my fault that dad's a victor and that nearly everyone else has some kind of LOSER parent like you!"_

 _Ivy knew that it struck a nerve with her mother as she slammed the ax blade into the floor and there was a wounded look in her eyes, but Ivy didn't really care what her mother was thinking or feeling. To Ivy, she was just being a bitchy cunt again and didn't care how her daughter was feeling. And honestly, if her mom had just gone to where she had said she was going to go, none of this would have ever happened. But_ that that's parents for you, especially mothers, they ruined everything. _Ivy told herself as she thought of what her mother had been doing as of late._

 _Her mother thought that everybody was using Ivy to get access to food, money, or more recently, drugs. But was it so hard to just see that people wanted to be friends with her? Yeah, not everyone was as rich or privileged as them, so why wouldn't they want to come to her house in the victor village and experience something good? Ivy didn't mind that some kids asked for food and the like as she had seen kids go without breakfast or lunch, so she had been all too happy to give them some._

 _But then there was her mother, telling her that her friends only saw her as a meal ticket. It pissed her off to no end and wished that her mother could just accept that not everyone could marry a victor and live the high life. In Ivy's mind, it was like her mother had forgotten what her life was like before she meet her dad._

 _"Get to your room!" Berry yelled as she pointed to the direction of the destination. "Now!"_

 _"Fine by me." Ivy sighed with boredom as she raised her hands in mock surrender, knowing that as soon as she was in her room she'd just sneak out of the house and go see her friends at the regular spot. The peacekeepers that patrolled the victor village wouldn't stop her from going anywhere as long as she wasn't breaking any laws. At least, in their eyes, because what they didn't know couldn't hurt her._

 _As she turned away from her mother, Ivy placed her hands inside her jacket pockets and felt the small, smooth vial of morphine that she and her friends had been planning to inject into their veins. Ivy didn't need to find any needles as they already had their own, so that made things go a little easier. Ivy gave off a small smile as she thought of that euphoric feeling of bliss and warmth that spread through her body. With a shot of that heavenly liquid, all her troubles would go away, she'd feel no pain or anxiety, and maybe, just maybe, she could get some sleep._

 _Her friends were also going to be with her, so she wouldn't have to be alone either. It was a safe place anyway as no peacekeepers would look there and it was pretty out of the way so that there was a low chance someone could just randomly show up as they were sedated and take all their things. Or worse._

 _Ivy went to her room, and didn't need to look back to know that her mother was following her. It didn't matter though, because soon, she'd be out of the house and meeting her friends and there was nothing that her mother could do that could stop her._

 _Ivy saw the door to her room and was about to go inside and slam the door in her mother's face when Ivy felt hands grab her jacket and rip it off her body. Confused and more than a little surprised, Ivy spun around and saw her mother shaking the jacket and watched as vials of clear liquid fell from the pockets and landed on the floor. Ivy was so frightened that the vials were going to shatter that her heart jumped in her chest, but they were tough suckers manufactured in The Capitol, so they didn't even crack, sending relief through out Ivy's mind before she made a dive for the narcotics. She didn't want her mother to grab them before she did._

 _Ivy expected to land on them and use her body to shield them from her mother, but Ivy saw her mother kick the small glass jars away, far out of Ivy's reach right before Ivy landed on the floor and attempted to scramble towards the drugs. She didn't get far before her mother grabbed her again and threw her into her room._

 _Growling with frustration, the teenager girl glared at her mother for a split second before she charged at her, determined to get past her, barrel her over, fight her if she had to, and grab the drugs before rushing out of the house. Ivy's face instead meet the hard surface of a door before she could set food outside her room._

 _Pain radiated through her face as she fell back and gave out a squawk of pain as she cupped her nose with both hands. "Bitch!" Ivy shouted as she stood up and grabbed the handle to the door. "You fucking bitch!" She said as she tried to open the door, only to find that it wouldn't open._

 _Ivy gave out a roar of frustration as she continued to try and open the door normally, if not roughly, before she started to bash her shoulder against it repeatedly. When that didn't work, she started to kick it. All that did was make noise._

 _Giving out a frustrated growl, Ivy went over to her window, thinking that she could spend some of her own money and buy some other drugs from a pusher when she saw that there were thick iron bars over her window. "What the fuck!" Ivy screamed as she opened her window, grabbed at the bars, and shook them with all her might, not moving them in the slightest as they held fast._

 _It didn't take her long to figure out that she was trapped. Inside her own room. With no drugs what so ever._

 _Her mind went into a wild frenzy as it told her that it craved the powerful pain killers she had been feeding it. That it needed them. And Ivy didn't fight those thoughts, as she wanted them so badly as well._

 _Grinding her teeth together, Ivy ran to her door and started to beat on her door with her fists. "Mom! Mom! Let me out! Let me out! Please! I'm sorry! Mom! Mom! Let me out!" Ivy then began to once again kick at the door, even though she knew that it was made of tough maple wood._

 _When attacks didn't even create a crack or dent in the door, Ivy started to throw things at the door and the walls of her room as she screamed her head off, finding that saying things of atonement wouldn't get her out, she changed her words to rage. "Let me out right now you bitch! You slut! Get your whore ass over here and open this god damn door right fucking now! You hearing me you piss haired slut? Open this fucking door or I'll cut your damn face off!"_

 _Ivy then had her emotions cycle between atonement, anger, and silence as she tried to find a way to get out of her room, dreading being away from her precious drugs for longer than need be._

* * *

How she wished for some morphine or something resembling it.

Besides the chills, sweats, the aches and pain that she was going through, she felt as if she was going to vomit as her stomach was in painstakingly tight knots. Her thoughts were hazy as her head felt like it was being crushed between a pair of vice grips, and her eyes felt like they had tree sap brushed on them. There was a long streak of blood on the side of her face since she hadn't bothered to wipe it off and she didn't really notice it all too much as it mixed in with her sweat.

Ivy looked at her hands and saw that they were violently shaking and there was nothing she could do to stop them. Her arms, where she would typically jab the needles and shoot up and leave what appeared to be large bug bites, were covered up by her sun burnt skin, but the goosebumps associated with withdrawal were out in full force. The blood vessels in her eyes felt like they had increased in size. Inside her chest, her heart was beating rapidly, thumping against her chest like it was trying to escape. If anything, the girl wondered if the reason she wanted to vomit but couldn't was because her heart refused to leave it's designated home and her body was trying to prevent her ribs from busting open.

Withdrawal was hell, and Ivy severely wanted it stop. She wanted the pain to stop and she wanted to calm her body down through opioids or alcohol. After all, she hadn't had any opioids since the morning of the reapings, and during her time away from the drugs, she had soothed the withdrawal symptoms with alcohol. Though at the moment, she was feeling the full brutality of withdrawal.

But as she scratched at herself, finding that it was a way that she could calm herself down the slightest bit as it reminded her of the itching associated with the painkillers. But while it reminded her body of one of the unfortunate side effects of the drug, it didn't bring her the comforting warmth or the blissful relaxation. It didn't stop the agony that was coursing through her body due to the beat down that Marsha and the mutt had given her, nor did it stop the pain in her scalp from tearing her own hair out.

Ivy hadn't had anything else to stop the massive bleeding coming from her head, so she had removed her shirt and wrapped it around her head like a bandana. It had stopped even more blood from running down her face and stopped some of the sweat that was rolling down her face.

Her triceps, which had been speared by bits of press board thanks to the bench, were bandaged with her socks, making her bare feet rub against her shoes. _At least they're comfortable._

She had no doubt that her shirt would soon turn from grey to red, but that was one of the lesser things on her mind, as was being part way naked and showing off the hideous scars that littered her backside.

The parts of her skin that weren't sun burnt were of a clammy white, which made her scars stand out.

Ivy remembered that when the girls back in District Seven saw the scars on her back that they were shocked to learn that she even had them. Some of them foolishly thought that because she was the daughter of a victor that the peacekeepers wouldn't punish her when she broke laws, but she and her family weren't immune from the law and Ivy sometimes wondered why people thought that they were any different than them in that aspect. After all, they were part of District Seven, not The Capitol.

 _Bunch of dumb asses._ Ivy thought to herself as she remembered a time when her friends shoving drugs into her jacket because they thought that the peacekeepers wouldn't punish her because of her status. They obviously hadn't seen her scars, because while she could bullshit her way across the morphine and heroin and say that it was for her father, she couldn't explain her way out of the pills they had given her.

The peacekeepers were not kind to her, and they punished her just as severely as they would anyone else.

Wobbling and crashing into a food and drink stand, Ivy once again thought of the painkillers and how it took care of her and her problems, and how some of it would help her in her current situation as well.

Looking around, Ivy was nervous that she had made too much noise, or that she was being followed, or that at any moment, that another tribute or mutt would appear and finish what Marsha and the previous mutt had failed to do.

She thought that she had been anxious before, but she was even more so now than ever before.

Sniffing her nose slightly more quieter than she had done the last time she had done it, she felt the blood running out of her nostrils go up her nose before it came through her throat. Ivy spat out a thick wad of blood and saliva and winced at how much it hurt thanks to her splits inside and outside her mouth.

She didn't have anything to bandage the rest of her body, so went away from that water works place and headed away from there. Hiding whenever she thought she saw something, she slowly made her way towards the unknown.

* * *

Looking through the small sized building, Trail hoped that he could find something useful that the bronholes had missed. Though he had serious doubts that Thor and Terra would have left anything behind as they had been inside for a while before leaving. That, and Trail had heard things being dumped to the floor and there was even the sound of glass shattering. It was like whatever they couldn't, or wouldn't, carry, they decided to destroy it so that no other tribute could use it against them or for their own benefit.

Trail had listened in on the District Two duo as they searched the place, quickly finding out that it was some kind of first aid station, explaining why the place was so small compared to the large building not too far away from it and the rail cart that had it's tracks go every which way into the sky. But still, size wasn't everything as Trail considered the first aid station one of the more important finds in the game, and lord knew that he needed to find something due to what the gamemakers had given him.

Trail had wondered why the gamemakers had not went the regular way and set up a cornucopia and had all the tributes gather around it before the inescapable bloodbath occurred, but he was both thankful and not that it had happened. Because for one, sixty seconds was quite a while, and Trail didn't know if he could have kept his composure, let alone his concentration, within those sixty seconds and actually do something worth a damn during that cloud burst situation.

At the same time however, there was the matter of the supplies he had received.

A duffle bag with cigarettes he didn't want to smoke, a single bottle of water and a single pack of food along with some paper plates. Trail honestly wondered if the aviators wanted to see him eat his food on a plate and had the audacity to not even give eating utensils, thinking back to how his escort, Camella, wanted him and Soya to eat with forks and knives and the like.

 _At least I've got food and water._ Trail told himself as he looked at the many stands that screamed out that they MIGHT have something behind them when they really didn't. _Don't know if I'd have gotten any at the cornucopia. And maybe it's better this way. At least the bronholes don't have the upper hand with the supplies as they always horde whatever supplies weren't taken at the cornucopia for themselves during normal years._

Trail thought of Splendor, Radiance, Thor, Terra, Blue, and Marsha, slowly losing their composure as the lack of food got to them as the days went on. But then he thought of how he had never seen the bronholes from One eating anything during their training days in the training center or when they went to The Sinning Temptation. _What did the two of them say they had again?_ Trail tried to remember but he couldn't, before he just gave up trying to remember.

As he listened in to Thor and Terra, he had also discovered that Terra had found someplace that they could set up as their base. Thor had apparently not been there, and apparently it wasn't that far away from the first aid station, making Trail think that the first aid station wasn't a good place to create his own wire ground.

Trail lost his concentration a couple of times as he imagined things that were happening, or could happen, within the arena. Every time he stopped getting lost in his imagination he quietly hit himself in the head with his fist with a good amount of force. Repeatedly, telling himself that he shouldn't lose his concentration during a time like that.

He didn't want to be found, and he didn't want to be caught off guard.

When the two of them left, Trail waited for a good little while before he finally decided to go inside, not wanting to run into the two of them. He had seen that they had blood on their faces and clothes, especially Terra. It told him that they had either attacked someone or killed someone. But he hadn't heard a cannon fire, so he rationalized that they had attacked someone and they had escaped. At a great price. I mean, all that blood on those two.

So now he searched the messy place, looking through desks that had produced nothing useful and items haphazardly thrown about. Every cupboard and drawer seemed to be at least partway open and Trail had to wonder if there was anyplace that the bronholes hadn't searched.

Bits of crutches, a stretcher, plastic tubes, what appeared to be sturdy black rope, and other various items littered the faded light brown, large tiled floor, including what appeared to be shattered syringes.

The District Eleven male went to another part of the building, and saw what looked to be a recovery room with hanging, sterile white curtains that were several shades brighter than the walls, around cots that would give patients some decent visual privacy. But as Trail looked at the cots, thinking that they'd be better than sleeping on the ground, saw that the fabric had been slashed off the frames, leaving only the skeletal limbs of the beds. The blankets that Thor and Terra hadn't taken were slashed to various degrees, as were the pillows. Small white feathers littered the floor like it was some sort of chicken coop.

There were machines and medical instruments that Trail didn't know the functions of, but it looked like the bronholes had at least attempted to make them unusable unless someone knew how to fix them. Even so, Trail wasn't going to use them as for all he knew, it was for sucking blood out of someone or putting someone to sleep. That, and he didn't know fuck all about those machines.

Going into the final room, Trail saw that it was a small kitchen like area, and like the rest of the rooms, it looked like it had been looted through and through. The small fridge had it's door left ajar and every cupboard and drawer was at least partway open.

All in all, Trail found nothing obvious that was of use, and he was more than disappointed and a little bit angry that the bronholes had gotten all the items they wanted while leaving, literally, torn up scraps, behind for the rest of the tributes.

Once again, they had food, water, medical equipment, and going by the slash marks in the blankets and the cot frames, they had at least one sharp weapon.

Feeling mad at Thor and Terra, Trail muttered out a stream of curses before he looked to see if there was anything that he could salvage from the mess.

* * *

After the encounter with Diesel and the red shirted mutts, Soya, in her panic stricken mind, decided that it would be best to run and hide so that she could hopefully calm down a little. After all, she knew that nothing good would come out if she lost her mind and just wandered around aimlessly, even if that's what she was doing right now. But at least she had her mind in tact, mostly, and she could let herself decide what to do for herself rather than let her mind go black and find what her fractured sanity did for her after the fact.

Soya, hiding behind, yet another, food stand, told herself that she needed to calm down. That she couldn't let her mind become detached from her body. But as she thought of her attack on Diesel and nearly severing the hand off of a red shirted mutt, that she still had a hard time of not thinking that it was at least part human, and the blood that sprayed about. The way that both Diesel and the mutt had screamed, and how her hand felt when her saw ripped through their flesh.

The big girl did not want to look at her hacksaw, but she had cleaned it with her denim jacket in a weak attempt to wash the memory from her mind. Instead, all it did was make her not want to look at her weapon, which was now free of blood, and her clothes as they now had blood on them. And Soya hated the sight of blood, despite living in District Eleven, where people cut themselves working more than anything else. And yes, she had cut herself on numerous occasions, but they weren't that bad as the wounds weren't anything significant. They were small and manageable, and while some hurt more than others, it wasn't all that bad. Getting your fingers cut by berry thorns or thorned crops often didn't go deep, but they were painful and would be resolved quickly. Within minutes they could be out of your mind.

But those weren't the types of injuries and the type of bloodshed that Soya hated.

What she hated were those that amounted to a large amount of blood in a short period of time. The ones that caused horrific injuries. The ones that continued to linger in the mind long after it occurred and ended. It was things such as small kids falling from trees and breaking their heads open upon impacting the ground. Peacekeepers punishing criminals for all to see. The aftermath of a violent assault. It was things like that that made Soya want to turn away and run. And now, she was a part of it.

It continued to play in her memory as she dumped liquid from her water bottle and tried to clean the blood from her clothes, but after emptying half the bottle, she couldn't completely clean it off. The blood stain faded, but wouldn't disappear.

Giving up, and feeling no less guilty, Soya placed the water back in the duffle bag and just sat there thinking, curled up with her knees to her face and her arms loosely around her ankles, about what she had done. The memories making her nauseous as the present and past seemed to collide.

After a while, Soya wanted those thoughts to stop playing in her mind, so she stood up, got out of her hiding place, and started to walk. There was nothing else that she could think of that could help her take her mind off of what she had just done, so she walked, hoping that she wouldn't meet another tribute or mutt. And if she did, she'd just jump behind another stand as there was no lack of them in the arena.

The girl tried to think of better times. Times of where she wasn't being hunted and trying to harm others.

She thought of working in the fields of District Eleven, and thought it wasn't a good job, she had people there that looked after her. Her friends and family would make the most of it as there were hardly any days off, even during the reapings. There were so many teenagers in Eleven, so many people in general, that only a portion of Eleven showed up at the square while the rest worked in the fields, or other respected occupation, to continue providing food and other materials for the aviators and their festivals in The Capitol. And from what Soya had seen during her time out of the tribute center, it was like The Capitol never slept and kept the party going for as long as the games took place, from the reapings to sometime after the victor was crowned. Maybe it began even before the reapings. She didn't know, nor did she really care, for all she knew were the fields.

She had dreamt that she wouldn't need to work in the fields anymore, but she knew that was unrealistic, so she dreamed to work in a field that didn't have that high of a peacekeeper presents so that she could work in relative peace and wouldn't have to worry about her dissociative fugue.

Soya made her mind think about that as she walked and tried to settle her mind. It made her happy and more at peace.

It also made her vulnerable, as she found out as she was torn from her thoughts and flung back into the world as she felt something jump onto her back, startling her while she stumbled forward and screamed in fright.

"Get off me!" Soya shrieked as she spun around awkwardly and reached around, forgetting that a saw was in one of her hands and she could just as easily cut herself as the person on her back. "Get off me!"

"Just give me the bag!" A muffled, distorted, and though it was slightly high pitched, it was a highly intimidating voice that sounded kind of like it was talking through both hands cupped tightly around their mouth. Soya felt the body crawling around on her back like some kind of giant and frantic spider as it tried to remove the duffle bag from her shoulders.

Soya didn't understand the words that were spoken due to her fear and only heard the distorted tone of the voice. Even so, she swung her arms and body around until the weight on her back fell off her and she heard something heavy land on the ground with a grunt. Along with her duffle bag, which, while wasn't in the hands of the thing that had jumped on her back, wasn't in her hands either.

The girl spun on her heels and looked down at the bag and swiftly grabbed it by one of the straps, only for the other body to grab the other strap, causing the two of them to pull at the same time and find themselves at a split second stale mate, but it soon became obvious who was stronger as Soya felt the bag rapidly getting closer to her. Her years doing hard outdoor labor paying off.

She looked at her opponent and nearly lost her breath for a moment when she saw them. While the orange shirt and blue denim pants weren't anything special, what made Soya gasp was their face. Or rather, the mask they were wearing.

Made of black rubber with a bulge where the mouth and nose were, a small tube on the right side of the mouth beside what appeared to be a dug in ventilation system on the same side as the tube as well as on the same place on the left, and most of all, faintly-tinted black lenses over the eyes.

The intimidating mask made Soya forget that her opponent was over a foot shorter than her and made her lost some of her strength on pulling the bag. But as soon as she was about to get the bag ripped from her grasp, Soya thought of how she needed those supplies and yanked back again. Her short opponent didn't let go and stumbled towards her, still determined to get her supplies as he kept on repeating. "Give me the bag! Just give me the fucking bag!" And variants of just that.

Soya then swung her hacksaw at the boy, but made sure to keep enough distance between her weapon and the boy so that she wouldn't actually hurt him. After all, she didn't want to hurt him, just scare him away. And it seemed to work as they backed away slightly, even if they still had a grip on the bag.

"Get away from me you crazy person!" Soya yelled at him, continuing to swing the saw at him until the saw got caught in the fabric of the duffle bag. Caught off guard by that, Soya tried to tear it out, only for the duffle bag to rip open and spill it's contents upon the weapon's freedom.

"Step away now and nobody will get hurt!" The short, cotton coloured guy ordered. Of course, Soya didn't and tried to grab the water bottle and the package of food. Soya felt the impact of something hard hit her in the face as she fell onto the ground and grabbed where she had been kicked. "I told you to step away." The blond haired tribute told her before the saw was kicked out of her hands and her supplies were scooped up and placed into her torn duffle bag.

Soya, not wanting her supplies stolen and thinking about how she'd die of hunger and thirst and how much agony that would bring her, did something that she had never done before.

She got up, grabbed the tribute by their shirt, and purposely smashed her right fist into their face, causing them to give out a shout of surprise and pain as they fell to the ground and grabbed their face. Soya's fist hurt from the punch and she briefly wondered how people could stand fighting before she gave her hand a shake and grabbed her duffle and supplies. That was when she felt another strong force hit her right in the stomach before she gave out a gasp and grabbed her stomach, letting go to the torn duffle. "I gave you a chance!" The little tribute screamed with rage. "I gave you a fucking chance you retarded behemoth! But you fucked up you fucking bitch!" He screamed as Soya felt him kick her in the gut a second time, telling her that it would be a good time to start running.

She turned and ran and didn't look back as she feared for her life, despite the fact that the boy she had been fighting was short, skinny, and not even five feet tall. "Hey!" She heard from behind. "Hey! Dumb shit! You forgot your god damn saw!"

Knowing that it wasn't generosity coming from the cotton boy's mouth, Soya ran faster, hoping to lose him in the maze of stands.


	41. Hide and Hope

Stream wasn't sure how long he had been chasing the bigger girl, nor did he know exactly how far he had ran, but with the way his lungs seemed to be collapsing among themselves and how labored his breathing became, he was more than certain that he had ran pretty damn far. Further than he was used to that was for sure.

Sweat poured down his face as the salty liquid pooled around inside his respiratory mask and made his chin itch like he couldn't believe. Sweat had also built up around his shirt, causing dark moister stains to spread through the fabric and stick to his chest and back. His blond hair plastered to his forehead.

The short fourteen year old let out ragged breaths as his running became increasingly sloppy due to his legs feeling like they were constantly being prodded with textile machine needles and his vision was getting hazy.

The young boy had only wanted her supplies and was willing to let her go since he didn't think that he could take her on in a fair fight, but knowing that Soya was an anxious girl, he thought that would be enough to get her to hand over the supplies and leave without a violent confrontation. But she fought for the supplies, tugging at the bag, causing Stream to also yank at the bag for the much needed supplies.

But then she punched him in the face, and that's when his mind went crazy with violent thoughts and his emotions flared up so much that they were burning inside his head and soul. It made him want to fuck the odds and all he wanted to do in the moment was to hurt Soya. But after running for so long, Stream just couldn't find the energy to keep on going.

Being shorter than her, not being very athletic, and not usually running that far that fast, Stream just told himself to fuck it and all but collapsed onto the ground, going down on both knees and an elbow.

Taking in huge gasps of air, Stream loosened the straps of the respirator mask before tearing it off and vomiting all over the ground. A sick burning sensation glowed in his throat as a flavor of nauseousness spread through his mouth and the repulsive smell of digested food and stomach acid entered his nostrils.

Stream turned his body away from the puddle of yellow and orange vomit and collapsed onto his back as he looked up at the dusk or dawn sky as he collected his breath. Each breath of air that entered his lungs seemed to be as agonizing as the last while his throat felt as if it was being burned and crushed.

"Balls." Stream half wheezed half coughed as he thought of what he had just done. How stupid he felt now that his frenzy was over.

For someone that was under five feet tall, he had tried to take on a seventeen year old that was muscled and from District Eleven, a district that was known for their back breaking physical labor and producing tributes that were bronhole like in strength. Much like those in Seven. He considered himself lucky that Soya wasn't a fighter, but that one punch to the mask told him that Soya was strong enough to keep herself safe if she did somehow swallow her fear and fight.

Worse than that though was that he had unnecessarily chased after her and expended a lot of energy that could have been saved up and used later. And as he cracked open a bottle of water and drank greedily, nearly drinking the entire bottle's worth of liquid, he thought of how it was a waste of supplies as well.

Not only that, but as he looked around, Stream noticed that while the arena looked more or less the same except for some noticeable landmarks, it was effortless to see that he didn't know where he was. Meaning that the supplies that he had hidden just before his encounter with Soya were somewhere unknown to him until he found someplace familiar. But as much as he wanted to find a recognizable landmark, he just couldn't get his body to stand, let alone move. It was just too drained to do anything other than make him breathe and think. _Like... A whole sack of balls._ Stream thought miserably as he lifted his right arm, which seemed to weigh as much as a thick full roll of clothing fabric, to his forehead and draping the crock of his arm over his head, feeling his wet hair and wet forehead.

Looking up at the stars, he thought of how the sky in the arena looked more natural than they did in previous years, when all the tributes could see was a pitch black night sky, a sky blue horizon, or those that were in between. And while District Eight had pollution spewing out of the factories, making the smog cover the sky like a lacy vial, the tributes of Eight, and even the other districts, knew that the sky was a replication of what time it was for the aviators. Or whatever time of day they wanted it to be in the arena. Inside that bubble of a force field, it was a fake sky with fake clouds and a fake sun and moon. And while it looked real enough, there were things that were just off about the environment. From the sky being too black, to the clouds being too perfect in grey or white.

Even in The Capitol, where it seemed to be relatively free of pollution, the sky still looked different than it did on the TV when airing the games. But this... The sky he was looking at. It looked more real. Still fake, but more real.

Because of that, and the fact that he was tired from running and the burst of anger that charged his mind and body, Stream felt like closing his eyes and going to sleep. He had no idea what time it was, but it was dark outside, lit up by the faux light of the sky and the overhead street lamps, and he was tired. It didn't matter that he was in the middle of a street, out in the open, in a hostile environment, he just wanted to rest.

Stream closed his eyes, but fought the urge to sleep as he continued to pant heavily, not wanting to fall asleep and die. _They always said that my anger would be the death of me_. Stream thought. _And I believed them. I knew that it would be the death of me as well. Looks like we were all right._

Stream continued to breathe in and out heavily when he heard light chatter come a short distance away. He didn't know who they were or what they were doing, but he did not want to be caught by them. He wasn't asleep yet, so he still cared and could do something about it.

Using all his might, Stream slowly picked himself up, grabbed his supplies, which felt a lot heavier than they did before, and started to practically hobble towards the nearest food stand.

The voices were getting closer, and Stream knew that he didn't have much time to hide himself. So despite the burning in his legs and chest, feeling that it was a strenuous task, he hobbled faster until he got to the food stand, clumsily climbed over the counter, and rolled into it more than anything else, falling on top of something hard that gave out it's own cry of pain as Stream rolled off of it and onto the ground.

 _What the hell?_ Stream thought as he looked at what he had just landed on, and saw that it was a duffle bag that looked like it was stuffed with supplies.

Excitedly, Stream crawled to the duffle bag and unzipped it the entire way, only to be bewildered at what was inside.

Inside of the canvas bag was a curled up girl with unkempt blond hair and high quality clothes that were heavily wrinkled and unwashed for at least a week. The girl herself was pretty, but with the dark bags under her tired eyes and a malnourished body, it didn't look like the typical District One girl Stream was used to seeing on TV.

"Radiance?" Stream asked in shock more than anything else. _Why is she here? Inside of a bag of all things?_

The bronhole looked at Stream lazily as she gave out a low moan that sounded more like she was tired than hurt. Green eyes meet green eyes as Stream felt her eyes look over him.

"Oh. Hey." Radiance said lazily as she placed her head down again and looked like she was going to try and go back to sleep. It was then that Stream heard a conversation going on on the street.

"Hey, you see this?" One voice, a female, asked.

"Yeah, I see it." Another girl said. "Someone's been here. Looks fresh too."

"Whoever did this either had to kill someone and had a weak stomach, had to fight someone and got injured, or they ate some bad food. And I don't see evidence of food or see a dead body around here. So they've got to be injured and close."

"They looking for you?" Radiance asked, scaring Steam since he thought that the sound of her talking would attract them to the very food stand he was hiding behind. Stream then swiftly placed a mouth onto Radiance's mouth, hoping to shut her up so that he could stay hidden.

Stream felt Radiance's menacing glare towards him, and also felt her moving about like she wanted his hand away from his mouth, but Stream was not about to let her mouth go free. Not when she happened to want to foolishly talk while there were some red shirted mutts around.

Stream found them very eerie, as mutts during the previous games never talked, nor did they seem to be as human as they were. Sure the mutts before hunted together in packs, but they were like a bunch of animals that went on animal instincts unless the gamemakers wanted them to do something specific. But not these ones. And that unknown made them more frightening than normal mutts.

Stream tried not to make a sound as his hand pressed down on Radiance's mouth, enveloping her jaws between the concrete ground and his palm, but Radiance seemed to have other plans as she lightly struggled and lightly moaned as well. Stream, not wanting to make a sound himself, placed more pressure onto Radiance's mouth in an attempt to silently tell her to stop talking. Or at the very least, to hopefully muffle the sound some more.

Footsteps could be heard walking about in front of the stand, and Stream hoped that the mutts wouldn't search behind the food stand he was behind. And if they did, he hoped that they just did a quick search and wouldn't stop him. Even more so, he hoped that Radiance wouldn't compromise him. He didn't know why she'd want to, since she was in the same kind of danger he was in, but from her actions so far, he didn't want to take any chances.

Time seemed to stretch on forever, and Stream inched his body towards the wooden wall of the stand, pressing into it even, to become even smaller than he already was. He held his breath as the footsteps came closer to him and he prayed to those above that they wouldn't spot him. That nothing would go wrong.

His mind went crazy as he pictured a head suddenly descending from the edge of the stand and looking at him with wild, crazy eyes before they attacked him. Killed him. Slowly. Painfully. And there was almost nothing he could do since he was so tired.

With his free hand, he gripped the saw tighter and was ready to swing the second he saw an unfamiliar face show up out of nowhere.

"You find anything?" The further away female asked.

"Not yet." The closer one answered, as Stream heard her stop at the stand he was at. Stream was ready to swing and anticipated the moment as his heart continued to thump in his chest, his teeth clench painfully together, and beads of sweat cascaded down his face. _What if they can smell me?_ Stream thought with horror as he swore he could smell himself, understanding what people meant when they said that you could smell fear. It smelt like salty sweat and unpleasant body odor.

He did his best not to breath, feeling his lungs wanting to give in and collect oxygen, but he wouldn't allow it. He did not want to be found if he could avoid it.

After what seemed like an eternity, Stream finally heard the sound of movement going away from him. But he didn't relax. Not just yet.

The sound of movement continued to linger in the area for a while before the voices of the two females seemed to be a short distance away. Far enough away that they could still be faintly heard, but not far enough for Stream to feel comfortable with. They were still searching for him, he could hear them say so. Even so, he needed to breathe and allowed himself to take quick, shallow breaths that minimally relived his lungs.

He waited for another couple of minutes before he decided that now was a good enough time to finally start to breathe normally again and released his hand from Radiance's mouth. Relief washing through his body and mind as he thought of how close he had been to having to fight.

"That was a close one." Stream huffed as he wiped some sweat from his forehead. Only to feel a hand grab his face with an iron grip, making him feel like his cheekbones were going to crack an instant before he felt his head being flung to the side, almost immediately followed by a high pitched crack and the feeling of pain wash through the side of his skull. Stream gave out a cry of pain as he held the side of his head that had been hit against the hard wood.

"If you're going to kill me, do it quickly," Radiance told him with irritation before she pushed his head out of her palm. "None of this suffocation shit. It takes too long and just drags on and on."

"What the hell was that for?" Stream asked with anger as he continued to hold his head, which he could feel was hurt, but it wasn't bleeding. Not only that, but Radiance had slammed his head into the wood harder than he thought she would since she was scrawny and didn't take part in any of the training stations back in The Capitol. And if he recalled correctly, he hadn't seen her fight during that brawl the night they had all escaped the tribute tower.

"For not thinking correctly you fucking retard." Radiance explained as she pointed to the saw in Stream's hand. "You could have silenced me if you had used that saw of yours and sliced my throat open before tearing my head off. Besides, am I not a threat to you? Why don't you do just that. Right here, right now."

Before Stream could fully process what Radiance was saying, she explained it even further. "Kill me. Kill me you stick!" Radiance then sat up, grabbed Stream by the wrist and pulled it towards her until the serrated saw blade was pressed up against her neck. Stream saw that, and attempted to pull his arm away from the bronhole, bewildered by her actions, but she held fast. "Do it. Do it! What are you waiting for?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Stream asked as he grabbed his arm and pulled it away, only for Radiance to pull it back.

"What are YOU doing?" Radiance countered as the serrated end of the saw continued to go back and forth between going towards Radiance to going towards it's new owner. "We're not an alliance. You're not a career and I am. It's an easy kill. Don't you want to go home? If you do, kill me. NOW!"

Stream, not wanting to do that, swirled his arms around in a wheel like motion until his hands were free from Radiance's grasp before he backed away a couple feet.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Stream asked with confusion. "Don't you want to go home?"

"Fuck no," Radiance answered without hesitation. "What do I have to go back to? Now if you don't have the balls to kill me, hand over that saw and I'll show you how it's done."

"God damn it, no!" Stream replied as he continued to back away until he was on the other side of the stand, which wasn't really even that far away from where the bronhole girl was.

"You must really not want to go home then." She monotonously told him. "We're here until only one is left alive. So why so stubborn?"

"Shut up!" Steam yelled at her.

"How many siblings do you have again? Eight or something? Surprised your parents continued to crap out drab little shits like you in a poor rundown district like Eight." Stream felt his hands start to clinch together due to hearing what Radiance was saying to him. "Did your parents plan on using you all as slaves? Because what's the use of all those kids in a shit district like Eight? Or did they not know how to stop procreating? Or maybe you and your siblings are in some fucked up incestuous relationship and you just call them brother and sister instead of father, mother, aunt and uncle."

"Shut your fucking mouth you bronhole cunt." Stream demanded as he felt his teeth pressing together and his heart rate started to grow. He felt his emotions start to build up, and knew what kind of emotions they were. "I'm warning you."

"Either way," Radiance continued on, like Stream hadn't uttered a word. And he was absolutely positive that Radiance was trying to make him mad. "Your 'sisters' should learn how to take anal penetration. Tell me you little stick, would you like to fuck your family in the anus so you can be a pain in the ass in more than one way?"

"I told you to shut the fuck up!" Stream roared, feeling rage threatening to escape as he hopped out of the food stand and ran to escape from the hurtful words of Radiance before it was too late.

 _I do want to go home._ Stream said to himself as he ran away from the suicidal girl.

And he really did want to go home, but he didn't really want to hurt anyone. He had done enough of that in his life where he'd really like to never get into another fight ever again. He had said a lot of things back in the district, but those of antagonistic nature he usually didn't mean. But when the chemicals in his brain that powered aggression went into overdrive, he said and did things that he'd rather not.

He always regretted hurting people. Physically and mentally. And even within the games, he didn't want to hurt anyone, and he certainly didn't want to kill anyone.

Stream ran as fast as he could, despite still being slightly winded from his last run. All the while, a storm of thoughts blew through his mind.

 _But you fucking won't kill anyone you pussy! You really must god damn not really want to go back to your fucking home if you don't do what's god damn necessary! How dare you run away from an easy target! That fucking bitch had it coming! She was asking to be killed! She fucking wanted you kill her! You want that cunt to get away with saying all that shit about your family? Do you really not care about them you bastard?_

He didn't know how far he ran, but he decided he had enough of the built up anger and started to punch and kick at the closest concession stand he could find. His punches and kicks did nothing but make noise and hurt him, but he needed to vent his anger out somehow, otherwise it would just build up inside and be worse. And the more his attacks hurt him, the more pissed off he got as he thought of what the bronhole from One had said to him. Told him how he didn't want to go home, all the insults he said about his siblings. What she had called him. "I saved you!" Stream shouted punching one of the poles that was holding up the wooden sign above him, sending ripples of agony through his fist. "I fucking saved you!" He punched the pole again. "And you pull that kind of shit to me?" He bashed his fists onto the counter. "Why I outta-"

Stream then grabbed the hacksaw and slammed it into the counter edge before he started to grind it back and forth into the wood, sending sawdust flying with each stroke. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Stream shouted before he started to feel his energy and anger fade and the feeling of guilt and sadness came over him like a cold blanket.

He felt the unpleasant buzzing and throbbing in his hands and feet as they were red with pain and his knuckles were slightly split open and lightly bleeding. Not that it really mattered as the joints in his hands always hurt. His teeth hurt from being pressed together so harshly and being grinded. He felt weak from the sudden energy surge and dropped to his knees. And while it wasn't anywhere close to a large outburst, it still didn't make him feel any better.

He had managed to do something this time, but that was a very uncommon feat that he had just done, and doubted he'd be able to do it again. And really, that terrified him.

The young tribute saw that his vision was getting blurry and his eyes started to burn. Stream reached up to his eyes and felt liquid leaking out before pulling away.

 _They are all probably so disappointed with me._ Stream thought as he lightly slammed his fists onto the side of the food stand as he cried. _I do want to go home. But... I'm not that person. The person I never wanted to be. The person everyone thinks I am_. "Damn it." Stream whispered to himself. _And what if I don't deserve to go home anyway._

* * *

He was at the edge of the arena, or at least at the edge of where he could navigate without the proper tools or attire as the material he was currently clad with would do little to stop the razor wire from slicing him to bits.

The reason Nick was walking so close to the wire was because he kept on telling himself that at the edge of the arena, he'd be able to see tributes or mutts coming at him from three sides instead of four, and the edge was where he rationalized that he'd be the least likely to meet tributes. He didn't want another encounter with a tribute after his encounter with Carver, at least not at the moment as he still felt as if he still had a good amount of recovering to do. He wondered if he had torn something within his arms as he walked as he still massaged them from time to time to relive some of the pain and stiffness.

Holding the compact peacekeeper baton in his hand, Nick thought of such a weapon in his hands as apposed to Carver. In Carver's hands, it was a powerful weapon that could break bones with ease. In his hands... Not so much. It could hurt someone for sure, but Nick wasn't sure it had the same bone crushing power with him holding it. Still, he wasn't going to complain, he had a weapon with him, and a pretty good one at that. It was better than just the road flares as they were of limited supply and Nick would rather save them than use one every time he needed to fight someone or something. And the baton was solid and club like in nature.

Still, if there was one thing that he wished he had found, it was something to light the cigarettes with. He hadn't found anything in that cooking house as everything was run with electricity.

Pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and slapping the package on his wrist, Nick was about to pull a single white cylinder out with his teeth when he thought better of it.

 _Just got to fight those cravings._ He told himself as he pushed the cylinder back into it's package with his tongue and placed the package of death back into his pocket. _You aren't a humanoid program to them._

Nick looked to the mess of razor wire to try and focus on something else other than a fix of tobacco and nicotine. _Razor wire. Just like what they put on the fences back home. Except these aren't electrified._ Nick had heard nothing being produced from the razor wire, and had even touched them to be sure that they weren't electrified and didn't feel a sharp jolt of electrical current course through him.

It looked like someone could escape the arena with the right tools and enough supplies to last them until they reached civilization again. Whatever civilization existed between the districts outside the fences.

He hardly ever thought of what kind of people would be living outside of the districts as the idea seemed so foreign to him. Living outside a district. He figured that while there were no Hunger Games, they had to live in worse conditions than the districts had to. _If such a place existed._

And while the idea of escape was appealing, he knew that it was impossible. The gamemakers weren't as stupid as he'd like to think they were. Sure there were unexpected turns during every single quell since the second one, but that didn't mean that the gamemakers were dumb. Hell, Nick knew that there was something beyond the razor wire that would stop tributes and mutts alike from escaping. He didn't know what, but he wasn't very interested in what they were and just preferred not to even think about it altogether.

 _People smarter than me have tried and failed to escape._ Nick told himself as he thought of The Mockingjays, The Snipe, and The Owl. _A group of fucking adults tried to escape during the third quarter quell. Another adult tried to escape during the fifth quarter quell. I'm not so pompous to think that I can escape._

Back in District Three, he had thought about trying to escape the district and living in the unknown after his family had burned, but he didn't really see the point in that. He'd be alone in a hostile environment he had no experience in. It was nothing short of a self inflected short circuit. _But then again..._ Nick thought as dark thoughts flashed through his mind. The feelings of guilt and sadness ran through his body.

He really wanted to pop a flare, but resisted. He knew that he could last, but sooner or later, he'd have to eventually see some fire to calm himself. Especially when he started to think of things like that.

Nick kept on walking, hoping that he could find another one of those special food stands where there was a cache of food and a place to cook them. But everything he saw suggested the same thing. The same old boring, empty food stands that littered the arena with a few scattered stands that had small stuffed animals and balloons. He didn't have any use for any of those trinkets, so he ignored them.

Rubbing his arms again before he adjusted the duffle bag straps hanging on his shoulders, Nick looked ahead and spotted something that was unlike the others.

Instead of seeing a small stand made of wood, the structure was of a whitewash colour and looked like it was made from stones or blocks. Nick wondered what kind of building would be so close to the razor wire and went to investigate, wondering what it could possibly hold inside.

Nick hoped that it would contain food and water, and maybe something to help his pyro nature and anxiety.

Upon approaching the building, he didn't see any signs of disturbance, but that didn't mean anything as someone or something could be inside, ready to knock him dead on sight.

Getting the baton he had looted from Carver ready to strike at the thought, Nick did a quick look around. As he looked, he saw that the walls were made out of solid blocks. Giving it a tap with the baton, the teen found that it wasn't ready to crumble or break apart at a moment's notice. There wasn't a crack in sight, and as he circled the building, he found it interesting that there was only one entrench to the building. An equally solid door made of what appeared to be metal. There were no windows or anything. Looking at the top of the building, there didn't appear to be any chimneys either. But at the back of the building was a ventilation fan that was too small for any tribute to fit through.

 _Damn thing's like a fortress._ Nick thought with a smile, liking the place already. It looked easy to defend with it's single entry point, and because it was made with tough material, he didn't have to worry about people and things breaking in as the blocks seemed solid enough that swords and spears couldn't bust through it. Not without lots of time and effort.

Finding nobody and nothing around the building, Nick gave out a sigh of relief and prayed that nobody was inside. He wanted this building for himself. It wouldn't be like that special food stand that could be easily breached and burned down. Not in the least.

Nick walked to the entrance, which faced away from the razor wire, and when he reached the door he taped the door knob with the baton to see if it was booby trapped somehow. Nothing happened, and he decided to touch it with his burned hand. Nothing happened then as well.

Satisfied that nothing was going to happen, Nick grabbed the knob and tried to turn it, only to discover that it was locked. _Figures._ Nick thought as he looked at the warning symbols above the door, indicating that there were hazardous materials inside. _Nothing ever comes easy._

He didn't feel like looking for a key, if it even existed, so he took the risk and started to beat the door knob off with the baton. Nick had to hit it several times, the knob refusing to come off and would only bend before it came off. But only the front part of it as the knob inside the building was still screwed into the door. The teen then jabbed the baton into the hole like he was roughly poking something, until the knob on that end feel off as well with a high pitched clang.

Peeking into the building, Nick didn't see anyone. No tributes, no red shirted mutts. But it was pitch black inside, so Nick couldn't rely on his sight to tell him if there was danger inside.

He held his ear to the hole and listened as well. He heard nothing and was certain that someone was either being very quiet, or nobody was in there. He hoped for the later as he stuck the baton through the circular hole, twisting and turning the weapon and squeezing part of his hand into the hole so that the baton could reach the lock and turn it.

Nick felt like he struggled with it for an hour before the lock finally turned and the door allowed itself to be pulled open with a heavy, protesting groan.

Groping around in the dark, still anticipating an attack, Nick found a light switch and flicked it on. Light shined in the room as Nick looked around, and saw that he was in some kind of small office like space with a stout desk in the center of the room. The walls were of a sterile white that made the wooden desk and the small dark table and couches standing on both sides of the room stand out astonishingly.

Picking up the door knob that laid outside, Nick placed it back on quickly and crudely, but made it look like it hadn't been touched the best he could, telling himself that when he found new screws or nails or something that he'd place it back on better.

When that was done, Nick entered the building, making sure the door was closed and locked behind him, and looked around some more. To the left was a large sheet of glass that allowed a visual inside the room. Nick went to take a closer look, and saw that the room was empty, and was entirely sterile white. _What's with the empty room? Is it supposed to be somewhere to hide or something? Seems ineffective if it is. Observation room? But to observe what?_

As soon as the thought came up, Nick remembered the warning labels, and had a feeling of what he'd find on the right side of the building.

Nick went over to the opposite side of the office reception room and opened the door into an unknown room as it had no visual glass to give him an idea.

When he entered the room, he didn't expect to see what he saw. A room with a white tiled floor, the same annoyingly bright white walls, and what appeared to be shower stalls, much like what he had seen in The Capitol, but much closer to the ones District Three had.

There was a shower head and a metal rod with a triangular handle that connected almost right into the shower head. Nick reached out and grabbed the handle, expecting a blast of lukewarm water to hit his arm, but when he pulled it down, nothing happened. _Probably have to find a circuit for this._ Nick told himself as he explored the rest of the room, finding jumpsuits of an ugly yellow-green colour and made of thick rubber on soft and round pointed hooks. On the above hook was another contraption made of black rubber and had slightly tinted, rounded eye lenses and black straps with a canister on its left side. Hazmat suits. Nick concluded, knowing what was behind the door close to them. He saw on the shelf above the suits were cylinder like tanks that were nearly the length of his arm.

Stripping himself of the duffle bag, the baton, and the cutting boards under his sweatshirt followed by the sweatshirt, Nick slipped into a suit his size, finding that the suit was surprisingly tight and dawned the respirator mask onto his face, making sure that it had a proper seal and he wouldn't breath in any toxic fumes. Nick pulled on the equally tight black rubber boots followed by the tight black rubber gloves, making sure to strap them on just as tightly. The final move was to pull the hood on over his head, allowing it to cut off all air circulation to his entire body.

Nick made sure that everything was tightly sealed and proper before he picked up his baton and entered the next room, to see that it was just another small shower room before he went through yet another door. When he entered, he saw that it had the same damn white walls, but within the room were shelves that were nearly as tall as he was, with jars of powder, liquid, and other materials.

Looking further into the room, Nick saw what appeared to be a chemistry set. Glass tubes, vials, beakers, burners, and everything else a lab could need. The boy picked up one of the jars of powder and saw that he recognized the material.

Placing the jar down, Nick resisted turning the burner set on as he went towards the final door and opened it, revealing the empty room he had wondered about earlier. _So it was a testing room._ Nick said to himself as he closed the door and looked back towards the chemistry set and the materials that could both aid and destroy him.

Smiling, Nick thought of all the possibilities that were inside this building. It didn't have the food that he'd have liked, but it did have a running source of water that was probably limited, but it was water none the less. He just needed to find a way to turn it on. And with the chemicals, he could create weapons. He could go out and be a force to be reckoned with. He could go out there and find food. He could go out there and survive.

 _This is the dawn of a mother fucking charge._

* * *

Exploring the arena became increasingly monotonous as time went on, for no matter where she seemed to go, there was almost nothing new to see. And even with the things she had seen, she didn't think that any of them contained anything that would increase her chances for survival. After all, those things seemed to be more for decoration and entertainment than survival. She didn't need to try and turn them on to see that.

And with the numerous food stands that littered the arena, Dayta found that the arena was more or less the same. Or at least the area that she had explored, besides that place she had found some food and water. The one that had the animal cages and such.

The only thing that Dayta thought that would be useful was to either explore further than she already had in the hopes of finding more supplies or finding her allies. But even then she didn't think that she'd have much luck as the only things she had run into were the groups of red shirted mutts that were searching for tributes such as herself.

Every time she saw them she hid herself away and got her taser ready in case she was found. Of course, she had never been found, but that didn't stop her from worrying. After all, they only needed to find her once to short circuit her.

Thinking about how a little girl like her could end up if a group of mutts surrounded her, Dayta started to count the stalls that she passed in order to try and get her mind of focus on something else other than her potential doom.

 _One, two, three, four_. She thought as she pointed to the stands. _No supplies to them. Five, six, seven, eight. Anything but empties? Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Is there any hope? Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Better look some more._

Dayta wondered how many special buildings there were in the arena and how spread out they were. Probably spread out a fair distance as the gamemakers will want us to explore the arena, giving us more of a chance of running into each other.

Dayta looked away from the last food stand she had pointed at and looked ahead, to see that there were three red shirted mutts heading her way. They weren't looking ahead and seemed to be talking among each other. Not expecting that, Dayta felt her breath get hitched in her throat as she stared at the mutts.

She didn't react immediately, but Dayta swore that she saw one of the mutts starting to turn their heads towards her. That was when she finally snapped out of her stupor and ran for the food stand that she had pointed at.

The girl ran towards it, tried to jump behind it with a single leap, but landed halfway onto the counter before she half pulled half flopped forwards and landed roughly inside the stand. Dayta slowly and carefully pulled the duffle off her body as she clutched the taser and kept silent, hoping that they hadn't spotted her and had been too engaged in their conversation to notice her.

She thought of having to taser one in the face before grabbing the bag of supplies and running. She thought of how she had been so stupid during her panic, as the stand on the other side of her had been closer and she had ran to the further one just because she had been looking at it previously. She thought of how she had not been careful enough and had let her guard down by counting. Sure she had to calm herself down, but she told herself that she should have counted in a safer matter. Counting four before turning and checking her surroundings before counting again.

 _Please please please please. Don't let them see me._ She thought in her head as she tried to become as small and quiet as possible. If they didn't hear her, she certainly didn't want them to hear her.

And she could hear them getting closer. They were close enough that she could understand what they were saying.

"You think anything's in this area?" One of them, a man, asked.

"Maybe," a female answered. "But they could be anywhere, not just here."

Dayta's hand tightened against the taser, even though she was pretty sure that they hadn't noticed her, thankfully. Even so, she couldn't be certain that they couldn't hear her beating heart, which had accelerated it's rhythm to uncomfortable levels. If pounded so hard that it hurt her chest and she could hear it in her ears. Beads of sweat built up on her forehead and were trailing down her face. She also felt the same smelly sweat build up under her arms, and was sure that if they didn't leave soon that they'd be able to sniff her out if nothing else.

"Well there's nothing of interest here for anyone," another male said, this time, the voice was chillingly close. Much too close for Dayta's comfort. It sounded like they were just a few feet away from her. Dayta hoped upon hoped that they'd just walk passed her and the worst would be over in a few seconds.

Dayta's grip on her weapon was so intense she didn't think she could move her fingers if she wanted to. And she felt as if she was shaking so hard it was like she was freezing, even though she was sweating, as nervous thoughts ran through her brain. "So why would they be here of all places?"

"Looking for points of interest?" The girl suggested. "Continue to hope they find something? I don't know, all I know is that some scurry around like a bunch of rats. Running aimlessly and hiding when danger is close."

Dayta then saw one of the men jump over the side and land behind the food stand. Into the very spot that she was hiding in.

"Right?" He asked in a mocking drawl as he landed on his feet. Dayta screamed in fright as she watched the events unfold with seemingly blinding speed.

The man jumped over the side before Dayta tried to move her stiff fingers, but she was too frightened to do anything but scream. She then saw the man's foot get lifted up before he kicked her in the head, causing the back of her head to smash against the wood and her face to feel to the blow of the kick. Pure agony raged through her face before a second kick striked her in the face, causing a small section of her lips to split open and spill blood.

Dayta then felt her arms being grabbed before she was lifted up and placed onto the food stand counter. That was when Dayta began to flail around in a desperate attempt to get free from the mutts.

She swung her arms and legs about, kicking and screaming, even managing to kick the man who had kicked her in the chest. It made the man stumble away a very short distance, but nothing more than that and maybe hurting him a little.

Dayta's right thumb was moving as well, despite how tight her grip was on the taser, and manged to flick the switch of the weapon, causing blue electricity to dance and crackle between the copper prongs.

Dayta swung her arms around, hoping to hit the mutts as they hadn't completely restrained her arms just yet, and she hoped to get free and run while damning the supplies. Sure they were important and seemingly difficult to find in this arena, but more could be found.

The girl's flailing about was enough that the mutts lost their grip on her and she was able to clumsily spin around and press the dangerous end of the taser onto the female, causing her to scream before Dayta pulled it away and was about to taser the male close to her.

She spun towards the other male and was about to press the taser onto his chest, but as she did, he jumped out of the way, and Dayta felt someone grab her arm a second before they grabbed at her hand and pried her fingers open. When she didn't immediately release her weapon, Dayta felt the back of her head being grabbed before her face meet wood, causing even more agony to wash over her face. It didn't take long for them to pry them open enough that the taser feel from her hand and was kicked away.

"You know what we do to trespassers here?" The man that jumped the stand asked as he turned Dayta around so that she was facing him. Dayta tried to back away, but she only managed one step before a hand was around her neck, swiftly followed by a second one. Before she could even react, the hands started to squeeze her neck and halt her breathing.

 _They're going to short circuit me!_ Dayta thought with horror as she gasped for air that she couldn't pull it in or out of her throat as her throat felt as if it was being crushed. Dayta grabbed at the hands that were strangling her and tried to pry them off her, but she couldn't even get them to loosen off her neck.

The young tribute started to make horrible, awful noises as she tried to breathe. Her tongue sticking out due to the mouth trying to open a hole up for air. Dayta clawed at the mutt's hands, maybe hoping that she could scratch him enough to cause him pain and let go, but her nails were too short to do such a thing.

Her vision started got briefly cloudy when she saw something heavy, metal, and rectangular hit the man that was strangling her in the face, causing him to seriously loosen his grip. His hands were completely off her when the item hit him a second time, causing him to yell even louder as he grabbed his now bloody face.

Dayta grabbed her throat and gave out raspy coughs as her throat was now open, but still tight. She gave out long, dragged out gasps and looked up to see a familiar girl hitting the male mutt with the blunt object.

The man backed away, but the tall female hit him across the left side of the head, then the right, and with a follow up to the two attacks, lifted the heavy object above her head and smacked it harshly onto the top of the man's head. The mutt landed on the serving counter before the girl bashed his head in until the skull cracked open and red mists of blood flew out of it and crimson bubbles foamed out as well.

Dayta looked around, and saw that the girl wasn't alone, as her companion, a male, had repeatedly stomped on the female mutt's head so furiously that her face was now bloody and flat with blood spatter around her head.

Dayta looked back to the female tribute and saw that she was approaching the last mutt, who looked a little shaky, but still willing to fight.

"Stay back girl!" He commanded as he stretched out his right hand, which held her taser with the electricity still active, pointing it at the older girl. "I've got a taser!"

The girl grabbed the mutt's wrist with her left hand, and with her right, dropped the heavy object and grabbed the wrist with that hand as well. The girl then thrust the taser towards the mutt's face, the dangerous part first.

The mutt grabbed at the girl's hands and held her off for a few seconds, the electricity lighting up his face to show off his terrified facial features, before it reached his right eye and started to electrify it. The mutt gave out horrific screams of agony as Dayta watched the brutal display. She knew that tasers wouldn't kill someone, only painfully stop them in their tracks and temporarily paralyze them, but not kill them. Even so, there was enough voltage and electrical current to disturb the liquid molecules in the eye enough that after a few short moments of direct contact, it burst apart in a spew of grotesque yellow matter.

The girl pulled the taser away from the mutt, who gave out hysteric wails of torment as he clutched his dripping eye socket.

"That's enough out of you." The female's companion calmly stated before he walked past Dayta. A black, slightly curved sword in his hand, got within striking distance of the howling mutt, and slashed at his neck, causing the mutt's cries to be silenced as he chocked on his own blood. Crimson liquid expelling from his second mouth as the mutt clutched at it with a single hand.

The boy with the sword then gave him a shove forward with his left hand, which caused the mutt to collapse to the ground.

Dayta then watched as her two saviors walked towards her, both their clothes and faces spattered with blood of both fresh and not, giving them a sort of monstrous look. But even so, she was glad, if not a little scared due to the performance in front of her, to see them. "Hey, Dayta," Thor calmly said with a sort of compassionate look as he looked at Dayta, cleaning his sword on a clean part of his sweatshirt. "You alright?"

"She'll live." Terra stated with her dreary facial expressions and vocal tone. Dayta then noticed that the object Terra had in her hands, the one she had killed a mutt with, was a folded up cot. And seeing the blood on it got Dayta to touch the parts of her face that ached with pain.

The left corner of her mouth was split open and bloody, while the area around her left eye and the center of her forehead pulsed with agony. Dayta clutched her injuries as the full extent of the pain was coming to her.

"My face hurts." Dayta commented, her hands on all three parts of her injured face. "Hurts. Hurts. Hurts."

"I can tell." Thor said as the sound of a zipper being moved occurred. Moments later, Dayta heard liquid splashing on the ground before she was handed a damp piece of fabric. "Place this on your eye," Thor instructed. "Won't heal it completely, but it might keep down the bruising that might occur."

Dayta put the wet fabric on her eye, and it helped a little. "Now, for those bleeding lips, they look lacerated enough that they need stitches, and it's going to hurt like hell. So take a moment to get yourself ready while I get a needle and thread."

Dayta then thought of how much it was going to hurt having a needle going into her lips as a string followed closely behind. And she didn't like it one bit.

"Can I not get-" Dayta started to ask, but Thor quickly interjected.

"Unless you want to be in pain and have your lips become a liability and have them bleeding all the god damn time." Dayta was about to protest, but Thor continued to speak. "It may open later, but it'll save us bandages and have you in less pain for the time being, so when I do this, try not to move your head."


	42. Materialistic

_Like he had told her, she was to accompany him with returning the stolen items back to their rightful owners. Ten year old Paige didn't want to do it out so openly, but her father gave her no choice, saying that she had to see what her actions would bring her if she continued. Plus, he also told her that finally letting it all out would make her feel better as well as she wouldn't need to keep the secret hidden any longer._

 _Her father told her to start with the hardest one first, the one being her best friend, Baize, who was giving Paige a death glare as she looked up from her stuffed bear, which she held gently. The one with red buttons for eyes._

 _"I'm... Really sorry I took it." Paige told her sincerely as she did her best to not have her voice weaver with anxiety. Even so, she couldn't look Baize in the eyes she was so ashamed. "I... I was going to... Give it back. Really, I was. I just..." Paige trailed off, thinking that she had been too scared to try. She had kept on telling herself what if Baize had seen her with it? What if she was caught and got accused of stealing it when she was really trying to give it back? Even if she had stolen it in the first place. Paige worried about that, and thought of the reactions she would get, which is why she did everything she could think of without telling anyone that she had it._

 _It was why she hadn't allowed anyone to come over to her house in a while, because of the other things she had hidden in her room, or in plain sight. But with that, and some other things she had taken from her friends, she couldn't hide them as easily._

 _She planned on giving them back so that she could invite her friends back to her house and everything could be back to the way they had been, but it never got that far. The stolen belongings continued to stay in her room, and all Paige did was tell herself she'd return them when the opportunity arose._

 _"I had a feeling you took it," Baize told her as she shook her head, her shoulder length blond curls bobbing about. Paige hadn't expected that, as she was sure that she had been careful whenever she stole something, so she wondered how her best friend could have known. "Everyone knows how special this is to me," Baize explained as she looked down at the stuffed toy._

 _Up close it looked like nothing special as it was something that looked like it had been in far better condition before and was placed haphazardly together. It's fur was old and frazzled, one of the red buttons for eyes was more faded than the other, and it was cross stitched at all the seams, like stitching it once wasn't secure enough for some reason. "You included." That only made Paige feel even more guilty about taking it._

 _It was the first thing Baize had ever made, and while she needed help from her parents and her siblings, she was still very proud of it. "So what else did you take from me?"_

 _Paige looked away, embarrassed as her face flushed with shame. Beads of sweat broke out on her face and she could feel the fire building up inside of her. Paige scratched the side of her neck as, with perfect timing, Baize's mother loudly muttered from the next room over._

 _"She took all that?"_

 _"I take it a lot." Baize said in a less than amused tone and narrowed eyes._

 _"I'm sorry, I-" Paige began, but Baize cut her off suddenly._

 _"Stop," Baize demanded as she held out a hand in front of her. "Just stop. Alright?" So Paige did stop, dreading what was coming next. "You take my stuff. A lot of it from the sounds of it. I might have been able to forgive you if it was an accident, or even if you took some minor things. But this," she said as she held out her stuffed animal. "This was way too damn far."_

 _"I'm sor-"_

 _"Sorry that you got caught?" Baize hissed at her. "You're the mayor's daughter, you can have any stupid thing you want, but you wanted my stupid thing? Why? Because I had something you could never have? Because it actually meant something more than just a money value? God damn you Paige, did you take it for fun?"_

 _"No," Paige said with horror. "No of course not."_

 _"Then why'd you do it then?" Baize challenged. "Because you could? Because you thought you could get away with it?"_

 _"Baize..." Paige said with sorrow and desperation._

 _"I really want to punch you, Paige. I want to punch you until I'm too tired to punch anymore. Then I want to sit on you and rest, and punch you some more when I'm not tired. But I'm not going to." Paige didn't move her head, but her eyes looked up to Baize in hope. "Not because you're my friend, but because if I do that, you and your father might get a group of peacekeepers to whip my family and I until our damn spines get exposed. Must be nice being the mayor's daughter, get away with every damn thing you want."_

 _"Not true." Paige told her as her voice started to falter and her vision started to blur._

 _"We're no longer friends, Paige. You wounded me too much and I can't trust you not to do it again. You took this from me, what else would you take since nothing is sacred?"_

 _"No..." Paige cried out, her tears now coming out in full force. "No... Baize, please. I'll... I'll make it up to you. Come on, I'll get you whatever you want. I can buy you anything."_

 _"Can't buy trust, Paige." Baize angrily explained as she glared violently at her. "But I guess you're too rich to know that, eh? Thinking money can get you everything, but I guess people of your wealth just care about money and everything is just second place. You're so... So... I'm so angry I can't think of the word. Materializing!"_

 _"Baize..." Paige cried out as fat tears poured freely from her eyes and her mouth was open and frowning widely._

 _"Don't talk to me ever again," Baize demanded. "Go be friends with others that are more materializing like you."_

* * *

Crying and feeling weak from agony, Paige's steps wobbled about like she was intoxicated with alcohol before her side crashed onto the side of a food stand. Paige gave out a loud grunt of agony that was almost a yell as misery rippled through her entire upper body.

Her exposed right shoulder slid down the wood until she crashed to the ground and sprawled out with her left hand holding her right shoulder. The force of falling to the ground only agitated her back even more.

The memory of being stabbed in the back with two butter knives was enough to almost make Paige forget about her other wounds. The arms being sliced open due to glass and ceramic on a polished floor, the constant ringing in her ears that made her feel nauseous, and the raging headache that made her feel dizzy and sick.

Moaning, Paige released her shoulder and started to rub her ears in an attempt to rid the ringing from them, but to no avail. She then rubbed her head, which was now coated with sweat.

Paige worried about that headache, as it wasn't head crushingly painful, but it was still a bitch and hadn't ceased for however long it had been since she had been attacked in that kitchen. She wondered if the ringing in her ears were going to be permanent as well as the insides of her ears felt weird. Almost like liquid was trying to expel itself from her ears.

And if not the headache, she worried that her lungs might have been stabbed as well. She was feeling more winded than she should have been after escaping. Sure she wasn't the most athletic person ever, but she didn't think she should be this tired yet.

 _How long did I run?_ Paige asked herself as she looked up at the midnight blue sky. _How long did I walk? Feels like a lifetime._

She was honestly glad she managed to avoid the red shirted people as she didn't think she could have taken on even one of them in her current condition. The butter knife she had wasn't much of a weapon, not much better than that thin black cord she had had when she attacked Falco. Sure the butter knife could be used to stab and slash someone, but it would only be good if an immense amount of force was used or if it went through an eye or something. But even still, if she moved her arms too much or too far a burning sensation would wash over her back in agonizing waves.

Groaning, Paige slowly rolled over onto her stomach and wondered if she was going to die as she already felt like it.

Even though she had removed her shirt, cut it up and wrapped it around her arms and around her back the best she could, she still felt hot blood seep through the fabric and run down her back. No matter what she did she couldn't seem to plug up the wounds in her back. She had painfully stuffed balls of her yellow shirt into her stab wounds before wrapping them up the best she could, but it didn't seem good enough. She wondered if she was dying from blood loss. So worried that she didn't care that what little of her shirt she wore on her torso was wrapped around the leaking holes in her back, and on her front they were wrapped above and below her breasts, exposing her cobalt blue bra and the numerous ugly scars that criss-crossed on her back.

If she were back in District Eight, she could get a medic to clean and dress her wounds and tell her if she should worry or not. Now though, all she could think about was panicking.

Paige thought of the first time she had been whipped. It had been, physically, the worst pain she had ever felt as the whip tore the flesh of her back open and hot blood spewed from her wounds. Her throat raw from all the screaming she had done, and the torment that came afterwords.

She had done it because she had desperately wanted her friends back, because like Baize, they had asked her if she thought that she could get away with anything, that she thought she was above everyone else, because she was the mayor's daughter.

Paige wanted to show that she was like them, so after staying a couple of days in her room of sorrowful solitude and skipping school, ten year old Paige went out and threw a trash can and all it's contents at the first peacekeeper patrol she found. They whipped her without mercy.

She had thought she was going to die, as she had passed out many times before her sentence was complete. The first two times she passed out the peacekeepers waited until she was continuous again. The third time she passed out they shot her with a syringe full of synthetic adrenaline so that she'd be less likely to pass out or black out.

By the time they were finished with her, she couldn't make it two steps without falling on her face. It was a strenuous task for her to even stand and needed help to get to the medics.

She foolishly thought that it would bring her friends back to her, but it was all for naught as they continued to not want to be around her.

Trust was a two way street, and Paige had broken both those streets while no amount of money and apologizes would be able to repair them.

Her reputation spread through the school and everyone knew not to trust her. The district learned not to trust her. Even so, she still didn't know what was wrong with her and why she wanted to continue to steal until she was diagnosed.

 _Maybe Baize was right about me being materialistic._ Paige thought as she laid her head down on the pavement. _I told dad that I never wanted to feel that way again, and he saw how sad I was. I don't think he wanted to see me do something stupid, like assault peacekeepers and get whipped again. So he paid for everything I stole, because I couldn't even stand to think about facing the consequences of my actions again. That's probably why everyone looked at me like I was stealing for the thrill, because I could get away with it without consequences._

Paige sighed heavily, making her back hurt some more. _I really am as bad as people thought I was. I just didn't know it._

Paige thought about getting up and continuing, but she was too tired and asked herself what the point of going on was before she closed her eyes and passed out.

* * *

Cannibalising the machine in front of her, Anna felt as if this place was going to be her go to place for parts as there were many machines in the building and she was pretty sure that she could make something out of it all.

The first thing Anna had noticed about the place was the long, yet skeletal table frame that held a clear glass case the length of the table. There was nothing of value inside it, only some stuffed animals and other like prizes that could be won by exchanging tickets at the desk.

Beyond the entrance desk were the rows of machines that Anna couldn't work as they required coins that she didn't have. And even if she had the coins they were useless as there was no electrical current to power the machines. So she didn't bother trying to figure out how to play them and just figured that they were for aviator entertainment rather than anything else.

Further into the building, Anna had found the concession stands that advertised food and drinks and other supplies someone might want within a place like this. It even had a little kitchen behind the counter to prepare the food.

The first thing Anna did was search for food and drinks, and found a couple packages of the same thing she had been given in the duffle bag and some bottles of water. Anna wondered if the gamemakers were only going to supply them with those types of food unless someone sent a sponsor gift. And she really hoped that they would as she had tried one of those so called ready to eat meals, and didn't like them.

Worst single piece of flat bread she had ever tasted and a small pack of dried fruit that were as hard as rocks and tasted like them too. The package came with a heater bag that were single use only and could heat things up by pouring water in it, and Anna used it to heat up some a pack of bland noodles that were coated with what appeared to be white paint. Saltiest sauce Anna had ever tasted.

Still, food was food, but she'd have liked to have something else and wondered how anyone could eat such things. But as she searched the cupboards and drawers, she found a variety of other foods as well. Nothing fresh and had to be cooked, which frustrated Anna at first since the building had no running electricity or water, but she could use the heater bags that came with the ready to eat meal packages. She had been confused on how they worked, but managed to get it working after reading the instructions. Still, they were of one time use and there was a limited number of them.

Exploring the kitchen, Anna found that it had a griddle and sink which didn't have any running water. Hell, the griddle didn't even turn on. Collecting bowls, Anna wondered if it would be possible to use her blowtorch and cook food with that.

Anna put off exploring the rest of the building when she found a small case of cigarettes and smashed it open before liberating every single pack from the prison it was once confined in. She then immediately lit one up with her portable blowtorch to get rid of the lingering taste of nasty food in her mouth and to somewhat help her focus better before she went to work. She had food and water already, and didn't really feel up to looking for a power box or whatever was wrong with the entire building at the moment.

 _Besides, who knows what kinds of noise these machines would make if the building were to get turned on._ Anna thought as she found herself inside a machine with a colourful exterior, tearing out anything that she deemed useful. _Knowing my luck I'll probably lightning rod myself before I figure out how to power up just the kitchen._

Yanking out a large and thick plate like piece of metal with a black cord sticking out from both of the wide parts, from the inside of the machine, Anna examined the part before opening it and finding a series of wires and microchips. Not needing the microchips that was inside the device at the moment and knowing that there were plenty more if she did need any in the future, Anna grabbed the wires and ripped them out before tearing the cords off as well.

 _I can probably make an alarm out of this._ Anna thought as she used the fat end of her bat to smash the green electronic chips inside the metal casing. _So that if someone does enter my workshop without me there it will attract the attention of those red shirted this to the side of the door, place some tripwires, find some kind of soundboard, done._

Anna had ran into a couple of them before she found the building full of electronic machines that looked more like games than anything practical. The mutts had told her that trespassers were not allowed and had proceed to try and kill her. Anna responded by breaking their skulls open with the bat, which now had blood spatter on it. And besides, carrying around this clunker of a radio is more annoying than I thought.

At first, Anna didn't mind as she thought that if someone entered her base, she'd be able to hear them. But the further she got from her base, the more the weight started to add up. Not only that, but when the mutts attacked her, she worried that it would get broken if she fell on it or dropped it. _I really should have seen that coming._

Picking up the metal shell and dumping the microchips out, Anna thought back to before she had found this aviator entertainment center.

She had found this building that looked to be something of a security place itself. Concrete with bared and tinted windows that made it impossible to see inside, Anna tired the only door that lead inside, to see that it was, of course, locked.

Wanting to get inside, but wondering if someone was inside, Anna banged on the door with her bat. Nobody answered, so he assumed that like her, someone just locked it or something before going back out in the arena.

She then bashed at the door knob until the entire section of the door and lock came off and tried to kick the door open, only to find that it wouldn't budge again. Anna then pushed at the door, and heard a horrifyingly loud scrapping noise. Anna then tried to push it ever more slowly to make it quieter, but all that seemed to do was make it worse.

Then she heard snoring inside, and Anna knew that someone was inside the building. She turned to face the inside of the building, and caught a whiff of the dank, putrid air that was inside. It reeked of chemicals, sweat, and burnt plastic.

Anna recoiled at that as cravings for cocaine came back to her and she had to hit herself in the head multiple times before she thought she could control herself again. Anna had scratched at her scabs as she tried to remember if anyone smelt like that during her time in The Capitol when she remembered both the District Nine tributes. Harvey and Zora, who both seemed to be high their entire duration inside The Capitol and reeked of chemicals.

Anna recalled a time when her parents and Vida knew that she was on cocaine because of the smell she would admit out when she sweated.

At first she thought that she had a golden opportunity because, from the feminine sounding snoring, Zora was asleep and wouldn't be waking up for a while. Anna remembered Zora's disorder being anti-social personality disorder, and knew that she was a dangerous tribute. And the hideout she had, it had a bank of television screens and a console below them with a broken cord that shot out sparks. Anna thought that if she fixed the console that she'd be at an even bigger advantage due to the tools she had found.

She was then going to move the heavy object blocking the entrance when she noticed the wire around the desk. Anna couldn't see where the wire was going, but she couldn't reach it and try to disarm it, so she took the chance and didn't try to find out what the trap was. Impulsive as she was, she stopped pretending to be her younger teenage self and turned away, not knowing what other traps Zora had planted.

 _If she planted one trap and was confident enough to fall asleep, she might have planted more than just that one._

Sighing to herself, Anna told herself that of course it wouldn't be that easy.

But still, she had her tools, her own hideout, and a place full of machines that she could tinker with. And for now, that was good enough.

 **A/N: Hey guys, I've been gone for a while and there's a reason for that. I don't really want to say what it is, but it's leaving me with little motivation for anything and making it really hard for me to think. Hopefully I'll feel better with time and when I go back to work.**

 **Anyway, this chapter was mostly filler, don't know how good it is either, and I'm thinking of trying something out with the next chapter and beyond.**


	43. Alone and Afraid

Like a lost, confused, and frightened animal, Soya Boykin could only ran on the primal instinct of self preservation as she fled in the only direction that felt safe, which was anywhere but where she was. She had to get away from the boy in the respiratory mask. But the more she ran, the more lost she got, and because of that, the more scared she got since she didn't know where she was. Everything looked near identical to each other, which almost made it seem as she was on a journey to nowhere. But in her mind, all she could do was run, it was the only thing she could do. Just run and run and run some more just for the chance to get away and survive.

She thought she had passed some kind of giant metal wheel with cages attached to it and had passed a metal structure that had a cart attached to it like some kind of primitive railway transportation, but she wasn't quite sure if that was right or not.

Going as far as she could before she was out of breath, Soya, unable to run anymore, was giving out long, ragged breaths that were almost wheezes as she bent over and grabbed her knees. Her entire body soaked in sweat as her body was washed over with humid heat. Her mouth was dry and she could taste the salty human made perspiration rolled down her large lips and into her mouth. Her heart thumping painfully against her chest as strands of hair clung to her cheeks and the back of her neck.

Soya wished that she had some water. She knew how important water was as she had seen people back in her home district collapse and die due to heat stroke, lack of water, and over working themselves, but she had lost her supplies to the hostile tribute.

As much as she felt disappointed and upset towards herself, she felt as if those that were watching her were even more disappointed and upset with her performance. Not only because she had lost her supplies to a tribute that was much shorter and much more wiry than her muscular structure, but because she had cowarded from him as well. She had ran away in fright when she had all the psychical advantages over him. She was bigger and stronger than he was. If anything, she was the most physically imposing girl and one of the most physically imposing tributes this year.

But that was if you just looked at her body and the muscles that graced it. She knew that if someone looked into her eyes, if they looked at the way she held herself, that she was someone that they shouldn't worry about all that much. Because unlike girls like Terra, Zora, or even Mink, they carried themselves with a take no shit attitude. It was something that Soya could never do. And the aura that seemed to be cast from certain tributes just spelt cloud burst.

She didn't know if others could feel it, but she could, and it kept her away from cloud bursts and told her when to run. Usually.

Gasping heavily, Soya recovered as she got her wind back and brushed the sweat off her face with a quick wipe of her hand before flicking the liquid off. Her heart still thumping painfully and rapidly in her chest as more and more sweat soaked her white shirt, turning it grey. The girl removed her blue denim jacket to avoid overheating and tied it around her waist.

Great. She thought through her clouded and terrified mind as her body buzzed with anxiety. _Now where am I?_ Looking around, she didn't recognize where she was. There were stands everywhere, but that was nothing new. And like always, they were either empty or packed with useless junk that was meaningless to her.

The thing that frightened her most however, was that she didn't even remember most of the journey to her current destination. Her body had taken over and everything had appeared in quick flashes, almost like she had teleported from one location to the next. It was like her body and subconscious was threatening to take over and make her fugue.

Just the thought of her not being in control of herself any longer made her even more anxious and made her even more desperate to calm down. But thoughts of still being followed by the boy in the mask and being attacked from behind made her whip around in terror, half expecting to be attacked.

Spinning on her heels and scanning the area for threats, Soya saw none, but that didn't convince her that they weren't laying in wait within the shadows. Her breathing became heavy once again before Soya told herself, demanded herself, that she calm down before things became even worse than they already were as she hit herself repeatedly on the side of the head.

It didn't do much, but it got her mind to focus on something else for a few precious seconds in the hopes that it wouldn't get overwhelmed with excessive worry.

 _What did they say to you whenever you started to become like this?_ Soya thought to herself, trying to remember what people had told her to do if she started to suspect that she might be getting overly anxious. _Think of happy thoughts? Try deep slow breathing? Slow down and think?_

She tried all of those, but she couldn't do it. Every thought brought her back into the arena and how she was in a constant cloud burst. How she was inside the wire ground of fire wire mutts and murderous tributes. Her slow breathing made her feel as if she was chocking and she quickly reverted back to her rapid rate. And thinking... Just made everything worse.

Hitting herself repeatedly in the head again, Soya thought of how she couldn't do it alone. She always had her family or friends there with her as she never liked to be left alone in case her fugue occurred. They were always there to help her. They were always there to calm her down. With them, she didn't have to worry about blacking out as much as if she were alone. She was dependent on them because she couldn't take care of herself no matter how much she tried.

Now here she was. Trapped, alone, and desperate, on the verge of losing her sanity.

With the overwhelming sensation of powerlessness washing over her, Soya Boykin, screamed out for a few seconds, releasing some of the crushing feelings within her before she started to cry out.

She didn't know what to do, and she didn't think that she could go on alone.

* * *

Scratching at herself like crazy, Ivy Marlowe didn't know how much longer she could last as she was pretty sure that she was dying. Her chest felt as if it was collapsing amongst itself like something was either building up inside of it or her heart was becoming larger and was over taxing itself by continuously harassing itself to keep her alive and moving. Behind her eyes, she could feel the raging emotions of suffering and termoil as her brain screamed at her.

Ivy had shoved her fingers down her throat to try and relieve the build up in her chest, dry heaving in complete agony as her chest lurched and she felt an invisible fist make it's way from her stomach, up her chest, and fist it's way out of her throat. It had done nothing to help her, and it made her feel worse as she wondered if the pain was ever going to go away.

There was also the case of her chills. It felt as if ice water was flowing through her veins, and yet, she was sweating. Sweating out a repugnant liquid that smelt heavily of drugs and alcohol. And the smell was both divine and repulsive, driving her insane. It made her quiver as it reminded her of what she craved and what she needed.

 _I stick needles into my veins and shot the drugs into my blood stream, and alcohol goes into my blood stream as well._ Ivy told herself as she came up with a sick plan. _So if they go into my blood, then I should be able to get whatever remains inside by drinking my own blood. It's simple logic._

With the pins and needles inside her body and the thought that she couldn't survive without it, Ivy tore off one of her improvised bandages and slapped the wound she had uncovered. It sent a jolt though her with each slap, but she was filled with joy to see that there was blood freely oozing out her arm like tree sap.

But it wasn't running fast enough for her. No. She wanted all she could get, no matter the cost. She wanted it. She needed it. She wanted to experience the pleasure that it gave her and make it numb her from the world and the torment she was experiencing.

Looking at her wound, which was already kind of big on it's own, Ivy struck her fingers in between the lips of the slash and started to tear it back, exposing more of the inside of her arm and allowing blood to pour out more freely and at an increased rate. It hurt like a motherfucker.

Smiling to herself, Ivy thought of how much more she was going to get so much sooner as she raised her arm to her lips, cupping the slash with her mouth, and began to suck on the wound like a starving mosquito to it's prey.

Ivy tasted her metallic flavored blood and expected to get a small rush, or at least some release from the torment she was in. After all, drugs and alcohol should still be inside her body as she couldn't have expelled it all from herself already.

She didn't feel a thing and only tasted the sicking taste of corrupted blood that could poison almost anyone else that it came in contact with.

Not giving up, Ivy bit down on her arm, allowing another splash of blood to hit her tongue and the roof of her mouth, allowing her to swallow some more of the promised nectar that might reside within her.

But as she sucked and sucked some more, she got nothing, and soon, her arm started to feel weak and tired due to the draining of life and how hard Ivy had been biting it in sheer desperation. When she released her arm, she realized just how deeply she had bitten her arm. There weren't just marks on her arm that perfectly replicated her teeth, but some of her teeth had punctured her flesh and allowed liquid crimson flowers to bloom and grow on her arms.

Irritated that her plan hadn't worked out the way she had wanted it to, Ivy slapped her wounds and swore profusely at them like it was all their fault that she was feeling that way. She then made some choice words towards the aviators for letting her suffer and not sending her anything to help her in her time of need. She also expressed her anger towards the gamemakers, because it was their fault that she had gotten picked and was having to experience hell.

It was also their fault that her family couldn't help her in her time of need because of the stupid rule that they couldn't sponsor her because her father was a victor. Because it was declared unfair towards the other tributes who's families couldn't afford to spend that kind of money to buy them a sponsor gift. But if the gamemakers wanted fair, why not take the rich bronhole families and their pre-game training into consideration?

And speaking of fair, what the hell was with that toy snake she had gotten at the beginning of the game before Marsha stole it from her after beating the shit out of her? What the hell was that supposed to be for? Did Marsha get the same thing? She doubted it.

Did the gamemakers expect her to make something out of it? What was she supposed to do with it? Throw it at people and hope they thought it was a real fucking snake? Hope that they died of a heart attack because they were so shocked of getting hit by a plastic toy?

Growling animalisticly, Ivy wrapped her, now larger, injury overly tight with the now red and wet fabric.

To express her anger even further, she walked towards the closest empty stand that she could find, which was very easy to do considering they were everywhere and were constantly mocking her, and started to try and tear it apart with her bare hands as she screamed.

She didn't get very far as she wasn't strong enough to pull or kick the boards apart and the only thing she got out of it were hurt hands and feet. Still, she smashed her hands and feet against the wood, not caring what she got hurt, only wanting to try and tear the fucking thing apart in her rage.

By the time she was done, the only thing she manged to do was make the wood crack under her kicks. It ended with parts of her finger tips bloody and lightly torn from trying to pry boards apart. She was breathing heavily and couldn't help but notice her lack of stamina. Ivy seriously wished that she were stronger, and became even more pissed off.

"Hope you enjoyed the show!" Ivy yelled towards a camera that was facing towards her, it's blank gaze seeming to mock her and the situation she was in. She then swiftly raised her arm towards the camera with her middle digit extended with a furious expression on her face. "Fuckers!"

* * *

The more she ran the more lost she felt, but no matter what she did it always felt wrong.

She really did feel helpless on her own. Even as a teenager she was never alone, and always depended on people to guide her and make her feel safe. But even then she wasn't that comfortable as she could always slip past them without them noticing when she lost her mind. And when she came to, she wouldn't remember a thing.

 _You dreamed of this._ Soya told herself as she continued to wander through the seemingly never ending maze of stands _. You dreamed of the day you could be alone, without the need of being dependent on someone else to be there with you. When you could do things by yourself._ But as she looked around and thought of the cloud burst she was in, she told herself that she didn't want to be alone like this. _Not like this. Not like this._

It was too much too suddenly, and she had no idea what was the right thing to do and what was the wrong thing to do. The only thing she knew was that she had to remain calm, which was easier said than done, and survive, which was something that she had done her entire life thanks to the lifestyle in District Eleven. But even in District Eleven, there hadn't been people out to murder her. The peacekeepers, as cruel and soulless as they were, did go out murdering you for no reason, they did it if you broke the rules or messed up really badly.

The thing was though, that with the peacekeepers in Eleven, if you did something serious, they were authorized to execute you on the spot, but most choose to do it in front of a crowd to make an example out of you. And they were creative too.

She still remembered many of those executions, like when a group of kids had thrown stones for fun and accidentally hit a peacekeeper, so the peacekeepers rounded up the rock throwers and made their parents stone their own kids to death. The peacekeepers told the parents that maybe they'd learn to make their behave and have some damn respect towards them after this. The parents that had witnessed it made sure that their kids didn't make the same mistake.

District Eleven was ruled by fear, so it made her being calm hard as anything could happen at any moment.

Reaching to her back, Soya remembered the whippings she got from the peacekeepers. Her crimes ranged from disrespect to attempted theft. And while the whippings weren't the only punishments the peacekeepers gave her, it was the worst she received. She preferred a fist to the face, a boot to the gut, and having dirt kicked into her eyes over having her skin sliced open by a whip.

You couldn't attack the peacekeepers and you couldn't defend yourself, otherwise it would go on longer, and it would only piss them off more.

So she learned to survive. She learned to survive by trying to be as invisible as possible. She didn't get into fights and she didn't take any risks because she was scared. And with her friends and family by her side, she wasn't perfect, but she survived.

This, however, was something so foreign to her that she couldn't rationalize what to do.

Wandering through the festival like arena, avoiding the red shirted people like they were peacekeepers without restraints, Soya saw something that didn't look like anything else she had seen within the arena.

It wasn't like the wooden food stands, and it certainly wasn't like the metal structures she had seen either. Instead, it was a building that looked kind of like the justice building, but fresher and devoid of tangling vines snaking up the front and sides.

It was made of whitewash stone, looked to be on a large pedestal for some reason, and looked to be a mighty building. Not like a peacekeeper fortress or the justice center building itself, but it was certainly bigger than the typical homes of District Eleven which were made of mud, rocks, clay, bricks, and whatever else you could scrounge up and make something out of yourself.

Soya didn't know what lay in that building, but as she had run into empty stands, got her supplies stolen from her, and had no idea of what she should do, she walked towards the building, feeling as if it were the only good thing she could do. Her eyes looking around for signs of threats and seeing none, which made her feel somewhat safer, but none the less nervous as she didn't know what she was getting herself into. _Still, it has to be better than just wandering around aimlessly. Right?_

Syoa approached the building, feeling more uneasy the closer she got. She thought of turning back, but she just told herself that it was because she was making her own decisions all by herself. There was nobody to turn to, and she was scared of making a huge mistake. She really wanted to get advice from someone to make her feel more at ease and tell her that she was doing the right thing.

 _No._ Soya told herself, taking uneven strides towards the building and ascending the stairs. _No. Everything's fine. This whole place is a cloudburst, and this entire arena is a wire ground of the mutts and the gamemakers. That's why I'm afraid of going towards this building._

The girl then asked herself what if that wasn't just the case. What if there was someone inside already and she was going into their wire ground? _If someone's in there, then I'll just run away._ She told herself the plan. _I'll run, and I won't let them catch me._

Not seeing any better option, and wanting to see of she could scrounge some supplies, Soya swallowed the lump that had been growing in her throat, feeling it build right up again after, and walked towards the building once again with a buzz of anxiety. _It's going to be alright._ She told herself as she placed her hand on the door handle and pushed it open, peeking inside and seeing nothing that she should be concerned about.

Inside, she saw a desk that had been pushed to the side of the wall and looked like it had been torn apart for most it's parts, but was still recognizable for what it once was. There was a small black cushion placed on top of the desk as well, and Soya wondered what that was all about.

Because of the state the desk was in, Soya wondered if there was actually someone inside, but as she looked inside, she saw nobody inside. Instead, she seemed to be transported into another world. She hadn't noticed it before because of her focus on the desk, but she was in a world that had it's walls painted with moving, flowing colours of blue and white that gave off a vibe of calmness and wonder. It somehow made the air around her feel cooler and more relaxed, like she almost wasn't in the arena anymore. She just couldn't explain why this was happening, or how it happened, but she liked it. She didn't very well care for the how and why, just what it did to her.

The girl marveled at the display on the walls and on the floor, turning and taking in the seemingly heavenly environment, wondering if they had came to life themselves when she looked forwards, and saw why the walls looked like so abstract. In a further room from the entrance, she could see large tanks of water behind crystal clear glass that gave off a mystical reflection. It made the water reflect onto everything around it, giving it a majestic appearance.

Soya told herself that this was the building for her as the walked further into the building. She told herself that in a place like this, she could be at peace and not be as likely to go rouge on herself. That there could be supplies here and she could hole up for a while as she formulated a plan. She felt hopeful as she took in the sights. Transfixed by them.

Her focus was instantly off the soothing atmosphere when she first heard the sound of wood snapping apart. The reason she was able to recognize it so readily was because she had heard the sounds of tree branches breaking back in District Eleven, and when you were near a tree and that sound occurred, you better get out of the way, or find cover as quickly as possible, because someone was falling, and you didn't want to be below them and the branch when they hit the ground. Sure there was safety equipment that was used, but those didn't always work.

So when Soya heard the wood snap, she jumped out of the way of what she instantly thought of as a falling branch and body. Soya, scared out of her wits, but now safe, saw that there was no body and no branch, and looked towards where she had heard the snap, and saw that there was now a hole in the floor, and inside the floor below floor level were several wooden spears sticking out at an angle.

Looking in horror at how close she had been to getting her leg impaled, Soya backed off in shock, only to heard a second board being broken. This time, Soya wasn't able to react in time and she felt a blast of white hot agony course through her right leg. A sickeningly wet sound went off an instant before a much louder noise occurred.

Soya screamed like a much younger version of herself as she became overwhelmed with pain, closed her eyes, and reached for her leg. She felt hot liquid pouring down her leg and running through her hands.

Opening her eyes, and through her tears, she could see the damage that had been done to her as she gave out continuous screams.

At first, all she could see was the bloody ends of the wooden spears dripping with fresh crimson liquid, but when she looked further down, she could see that her leg was already becoming soaked with blood. A section of her denim pants becoming a dark red colour. The spears had stabbed through her leg and ankle in four different places while a single spear came through the middle of her foot, rapidly filling her footwear with hot blood.

The girl collapsed in pure torment, but that only made the pain worse and her screams more harsh as the spears moved about in her leg and sank deeper into the spikes. Bones that had been broken moved about in her foot and leg, and some were even protruding, almost threatening to break through their fleshy prison.

Soya screamed and screamed and screamed, never feeling any kind of torment like this before. Tears ran down her face as she clutched at her leg and tired to pull them out of the sadistic trap, but because the spears had been placed at an angle, it was much harder and much more excruciating to get them out.

When she tried, she could feel the spears rubbing against the inside of her flesh and whatever was left of the bones in her leg, ankle, and foot. It was like wildfire, and moving only made it worse.

Stopping only to shout a little less and feel the fire calm minimally, Soya continued to try and thought of how everything was going wrong for her when she heard a voice coming from deep within the building she was in.

"Who's there? Who the fuck is there!"

That gave Soya the nerve to once again try and extract her leg, and slowly, ever so, excruciatingly painfully, slowly, she felt and heard her wet leg sliding through the spears. With every fraction of an inch, blood seemed to shot out of the wounds while bits of flesh seemed to be rubbing off as bone fragments moved about within. A blast of pain so painful that the world sometimes quickly filled with black before it returned back to normal.

As she struggled to free herself, Soya swore she felt her enemy coming closer, and she swore that she could hear them as well, and that terrified her more than anything she had ever felt.

Her heart hammering in her chest so furiously that she thought her chest was going to break. She felt the blood vesicles in her eyes getting larger, like they were going to burst. But what scared her the most was that she could see her injury in vivid detail. From where the spears had been sharpened to how the shine of her own blood was either brighter or duller in some places, she could see it all. In fact, everything seemed brighter and more vivid than ever before. And there was a rushing, pounding sound in her ears.

Soya frantically slide her injured limbs through the spears when she heard footsteps rushing towards her along with the shouting of threats directed right at her. She looked at her leg and saw that it was only half way through.

Looking at her leg, and looking towards where the hostile voice was coming from, Soya felt her fear take over and override her precautions. She grabbed her ankle and knee, and with one mighty tug, with more strength than she thought she ever hand, with the greatest shock of agony she ever felt, with the loudest scream she ever conjured, she tore her limb out of the spikes, at the price of expanding the diameters of the wounds.

Blood sprayed everywhere for just over a second, painting it's owner a little before it poured out of the gaping holes like an over turned bottle of red wine.

Wasting no time, Soya got to her feet and collapsed to the floor. Not just because of her busted foot and leg, for she could still feel the pain, but not so much for reasons that were beyond her, but because her right shoe had become a well of sleek crimson liquid.

Ripping off her shoe, blood splashed out like it had been a bowl that had been carelessly tossed about before she threw it to the side. Soya, with her heightened vision, saw that her sock was the same as her shoe and was impossible to run with. She tore that off as well, to meet the grisly sight of seeing her three middle toes were flopping about, only attached to her foot by a thick flap of skin that connected to her big toe.

Throwing the blood soaked sock away, Soya grabbed her three middle toes and ripped them off her foot with the revolting sound of flesh being torn. A strip of big toe skin was taken off in the progress, but Soya damn well didn't care and just wanted to make getting away as easy as possible. And though what was left of her right foot was coated with sleek blood, Soya had enough balance to stand up and run faster than she ever had before. She didn't even think about how weird her right foot felt with only a big and pinkie toe with a blood gushing gap between them. How despite how painful it was, how it should have been worse. She didn't question how she was still able to stand and move the way she was, all she cared about was escaping.

She made it to the door before she knew it, leaving blood spatter behind her with every other step, and burst through it and tumbled down the stairs, rolling about a couple of times when she reached the bottom before she scrambled back up and saw someone up ahead. Olive skinned, tall with short black hair and an oversized jacket.

Feeling hopeful and not wanting to be alone in this crisis, Soya ran towards them screaming frantically.

"Help me!"

The person had been running towards her, but looked out of breath as she could hear his ragged and wheezing voice. "Please help me!" She pleaded as she got close to him and latched on to him, crying. She didn't care that he smelt horrible and strongly like cigarettes, she just needed someone to aid her. To have someone around and not make her go crazy. To take care of her.

She ran into him and clung to him for dear life, bawling her eyes out thanks to the horrific experience she had just gone through. "I... I need you to help me!"

She then felt herself get shoved away.

"You're... Not... Ashton..." Ryan Burnout panted angrily, glaring at her with intense grey eyes, before he turned on his heels and briskly walked away.

"Wait!" Soya yelled, grabbing the tall yet frail boy by the shoulder. "You got to help me! There's-"

"Get the fuck away from me!" Ryan roared the best he could before Soya felt him punch her in the face once, twice, then shoved back once again, only this time she fell to the ground due to her two toed, mangled, and bloody foot. It caused her to scream. "What makes you think I give a damn about you?" He asked harshly before he once again, turned away from Soya, abandoning her with harsh coughs that sounded like he was hacking out bits of his lungs.

He managed to jog around a food stand and disappear from sight as Soya got to her feet, feeling betrayed, and felt blinding pain in her gut as the world turned grey for an instant.

Looking down, she saw that there was a bloody wooden spear with a long, black metal tip tied to the wood. It quickly became apparent to her that it had pass right though her gut. She only got enough time to scream as she felt herself get kicked in the back, feeling the weapon slide out of her flesh as she was, once again, knocked down to the ground. This time, face first and much more roughly. She gave out a shriek as she turned around to see who had attacked her, and saw a boy that was just as tall, but was more muscular than Ryan with short, greasy black hair, dark brown eyes, and lightly darkened skin.

Blue Villegas quickly spun his improvised spear so that the black metal was pointed towards Soya. He looked ready to strike. She saw no mercy in his eyes. Only malevolence.

"Please don't!" Soya pleaded as she moved her arms to defend herself. She saw Blue rapidly stab her three times in the chest with ease. Red flowers blossomed on her once clean white shirt.

"You think you can come here and kill me!" He shouted at her as he stamped a foot on her chest and firmly pressed down on it so hard it was like he was trying to send her into the ground. "You think I'd just let you and your friend fucking kill me!"

He then shot the spear towards Soya's face, but she had moved her arms in to protect her face, and the spear shot right through her left arm near the wrist, breaking both the bones inside her arm as blood spattered her face. Soya screamed out as she saw the black tip go through her arm and shoot agony through it.

Blue, enraged by that, started to press more weight onto the spear and tried to ram it through with both hands pressed together, making Soya scream even more as it passed through her arm, rubbing against fractured bones. It rapidly got closer to her face, but in that moment, to Soya, time seemed to slow, and she could see the black, bloody tip coming towards her skull.

Soya didn't want to die however, so she kicked Blue in the stomach and chest until he doubled over. With her opponent just momentously stunned, and feeling more powerful than she ever felt, the girl from Eleven ripped the spear out of her arm and flung it to the side. She then gave Blue the honor of being the first person she ever punched, and did it with everything she got, clocking him just under his cheek bone and sending him to the ground with a spray of blood spewing from his mouth.

And with that, Soya turned around and ran away as she heard Blue moan, but saw him slowly getting up.

With everything that just happened to her. With everything that happened to her over the course of the past several days. With all the pain and fear and the unknown. She just... She just...

The girl lost her sense of identity and needed to get somewhere.

* * *

Bending down, feeling her back whine in pain as the did so, Ivy blew her nose on her skirt, which resulted in a discharge of blood and snot.

Pulling her head back up, Ivy found she had done so too eagerly and found herself feeling more disorientated than before and stumbled a little as the world seemed to spin a little faster.

The second she recovered she spat out some saliva, which was also tainted with blood thanks to her cracked lips, and continued forwards with determination. _Fucking Marsha._

She had a goal, and she was going to see it through, because there was a chance that there was something inside that building up ahead. It looked important looking, but then again, anything that wasn't an empty stand looked important in this arena.

She walked there, dragged herself there even, feeling so weak that she thought she was going to collapse, but kept on going, not wanting to fall asleep out in the open since those red shirted people were out hunting her and the other tributes and would kill her on sight.

Not taking a good look at the building, for she didn't care what it looked like, Ivy barged through the door and looked around, seeing that the walls were white and that it looked like an office reception area with plenty of chairs and hallways to choose from. Ivy searched the desk and found nothing that she wanted.

Ivy went to another room, and found that it was lined with cages that were either child sized or animal sized. They were empty. She didn't really care for them as there was nothing she wanted there.

Room after room she checked, and found some weird desktop devices that she didn't recognize, dog muzzles, and other things that were useless to her. That is, until she found a pail that was hidden underneath a desk. It was plain white and appeared to be holding something.

Ripping the lid open, Ivy gasped as she saw the light green powder that was inside. She had seen this stuff before, her father and some of the other victors had bought this stuff from an aviator who claimed that it was a tranquilizer from District Ten. It's main usages were to tranquilize animals, but it could be used on humans as well.

Ivy thought of how powerful of a drug it should be since it was used on animals, and told herself it was just the fixer upper that she needed in order to stop feeling so miserable. Smiling to herself in victory over finding something like this, she grabbed some of the powder with her fingers, taking only a dash, and sprinkled it onto the floor and spread it into a line.

Placing her arms and knees onto the floor, Ivy placed her head just over the powder, being extremely careful not to breath as she didn't want to mess up her line, plugged up one nostril with her finger, bent her head down until it was touching the floor and her open nostril was at the edge of the powdered line, and inhaled the green powder.

The girl could feel the powder traveling up her nose, burning the inside of it, as she sucked up every last grain, going over the floor several times to make sure she got it all.

When she was done, she pulled her head up high as she gave out a relived sigh as she gave out a great big smile.

Not soon after, she started to feel the sedation coming onto her as the warmth of the drug coursed through her body. She started to feel relaxed and felt euphoric, despite the fact that her breathing became slow and deep. Her physical and mental anguish dulled down as her heart slowed. Her vision got all fuzzy before she gave out a great sigh before collapsing onto the floor, smacking her head on the floor and not caring in the least, staring at the ceiling light that came in and out of focus. At times, her vision even seemed to have it's own heartbeat.

She felt at peace, like what was happening didn't matter anymore. She was numb and fucking euphoric.

She wished she had a syringe with some water, a spoon, and a lighter so that she could have a potent high, but the powder still did it's job. There was no more agony, no more bad feelings, she was devoid of desperation and felt god damn alive once again. All was right in the world.

And when the high wore off, there a was a whole pail of it to go through.


	44. Journey to Nowhere

Thump splat. Thump splat. Thump splat.

That was the sound of a frightened and desperate girl that kept on running despite the fact that most of her toes and a chunk of her foot were missing and that with every wet slap of her bare foot sent spikes of pure agony through her leg. It felt as if her foot was going to shatter at any moment. Hissing and crying, the girl continued to move forward and powered through the agony and her constricting chest for reasons that included not wanting to die from another spear attack.

Both her arms were crossed over her chest. Her left was held against her chest due to the broken bones near her wrist, which threatened to shatter and flake apart like brittle tree branches. She kept that arm from moving the best she could as pieces of and slivers of sickly faded brown and bloody bone occasionally fell to the ground.

Her right arm was over her chest in order to palm onto the leaking chest wounds that oozed out hot blood at a frightening rate. Her arm was also pressing against her injured arm as to prevent it from moving so much. There was little else that could be done since too much pressure made the bones threaten to snap, while not enough pressure made it flail about, also threatening to make the bones snap due to the harsh and sudden movements.

The pressure in her lungs was so intense it felt like a crushing weight was on her chest. Like her lungs were becoming enlarged and heavy. It made it increasingly difficult to breathe, and with every inhale and exhale she took, a horrible sucking sound could be heard coming from her chest and her throat.

The front of her once off white shirt had turned a sickly crimson red and was soaking wet. It clung to her skin and felt unpleasantly warm.

Another was that she needed to run, she just needed to. She needed to get somewhere, and she was determined to get there.

There was no explanation for why she was going where she was going, only that it felt right, and that there was something out there that was guiding her towards it. She knew that it was the right direction, for every fiber of her being was telling her that it was.

She was going. She had to go.

The girl howled as her foot cavity continued to increase in diameter as the two edges continued to pull further and further away from each other with each step. She attempted to deny that by placing more weight on her uninjured foot, but because she was feeling weak due to blood loss, she nearly toppled over when weight was placed on it. She had to place pressure on her messed up foot, and it was hell.

Looking behind her, she spotted the blood trail she was leaving behind. Her blood print was humanoid in nature, but looked wrong. She knew that it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that it was the bloody footprint of an injured person, but she couldn't go and clean it up and cover her trail, it was too dangerous.

Even though she couldn't see the guy who had stabbed her anymore, she rationalized that he wouldn't let her off that easily and continued to flee. He could have appeared out of nowhere, materialize from the other side of a stand. After all, even though everything looked more or less the same, this was his wire ground, and he was it's guardian.

She wondered if she had wandered into some kind of gang enforcer or a gang sentinel. She didn't recognize area, it was unfamiliar, coupled with the fact that there was nobody around, it scared her.

She thought of calling for help, but there didn't seem to be anyone for as far as the eye could see. Just stands, stands, and more stands.

Looking around and trying to get a sense of where she was, the girl looked for anything that she could recognize, and finding none. Still, she continued to run as she was drawn towards the energy that propelled her forwards, like an invisible hook had been stabbed through her heart and was pulling her towards it. She couldn't deny it, and she didn't want to.

The stress of slapping her already shattered foot bones on the hard surface came to a head when a sharp and audible crack was heard and a jolt of torment shot through her leg and through her entire body.

Screaming and collapsing onto the ground, the girl wailed and grabbed at her right foot, and felt sharply tipped bones poking out from the center of her foot. She also felt around her foot, and discovered that her big toe had lodged itself into an odd angle, an impossible angle.

She continued to cry out in absolute misery as everything in her body ached beyond comprehension.

Feeling miserable for a while, the girl told herself that she needed to find someone to help her, so she tried to stand up, only to discover that she couldn't. When she tried to stand her legs would simply buckle and she'd find herself sprawled out on the ground with her arms to either her chest, foot, or other arm.

Taking the denim jacket that was tied around her waist, the girl wrapped it around her foot as tightly as she could manage, a difficult task seeing as only one hand was able to be used without experiencing excruciating pain. As she wrapped the jacket tightly around her gaping foot cavity, the bones that had been sticking out were pushed back in, causing her to experience flashes of static as she screamed her throat raw. The feeling of broken bones being pushed back into place and hearing the sound of them giving out wet, sickening pops was enough to make her vomit.

When her jacket covered her foot like a crude, makeshift cast, the girl once again tried to stand, but not before dragging herself to the closest stand and pulling herself up using only one powerful arm.

She got to her feet, placing much more pressure on her non-injured leg than her injured one, and started hobbling like she only had one leg. It worked for only two jumps before she felt stupidly dizzy and collapsed back onto the ground, banging her head in he process. More screaming occurred, and by that time, her throat felt torn up inside.

She felt her head, and while there was no blood it hurt just as much as everything else. So much so that she wondered if her skull had been cracked.

Not wanting to stay put and die, the girl dragged herself in the direction that she was being driven towards, doing her best not to have the arm that had been speared drag on the ground.

It was a slow and agonizing process as there was nobody out there. She wondered where everyone was and where all the houses were. There seemed to be no trace of life anywhere and she wondered if she was in Hell. If she had died and gone to Hell, it was the most logical explanation for what was going on.

She couldn't remember anything past seeing a boy in a black suit on the ground a second before he was picking himself up. She saw his eyes glaring at her, she wondered what she had done to him. But upon seeing his makeshift spear, she realized what had happened to her and why she was feeling so bad.

After that, all it was was running, torment, and a destination.

Looking around her again in sheer desperation to find someone, anyone, she noted that fact that there were stands everywhere. That is, until she spotted something in the distance. It was different than the plain wooden stands that she had grown accustomed to since she had came into consciousness. Instead, her vision was greeted by pipes of various colours and lengths that attached themselves to the ground and lead to other places in front of her.

Knowing that she was destined to head in that direction anyway, the girl was hopeful as she dragged herself towards the pipes.

Along the way, her jacket got soaked with blood and eventually, she left a blood trail again, except this time her trail was more like a slug slime trail rather than leaving behind a footprint that looked strangely human.

The long and painful drag also left her right hand a mess as the tips of her fingers were bleeding due to the friction of the ground while her nails had peeled off thanks to having them dig into the hard ground just to get enough of a grip to go forwards. Where she had placed her hand to drag herself forwards, four long lines of blood were there. Only her thumb retained it's original state.

The girl was crying like crazy due to how much it hurt just to get to her destination, and she knew that she had to go further, not only because she felt it in her heart, but also because like all the times after running away from that boy, there was nobody there to help her.

She cried and held her hand to her chest in an attempt to comfort her hand now that it had four missing fingernails and was bleeding from the same four fingertips and strips of flesh had been rubbed off in an attempt to get to help.

She felt helpless. Since the moment she had woken up, or came to, she couldn't remember anything and just felt agony. Felt fear. Felt hot blood gushing from wounds she couldn't remember receiving and saw a boy with a homemade spear glaring bloody murder at her. And now it was hard for her to even breathe as her lungs felt like collapsing even more than they had been in the beginning. The sucking sounds had gotten even worse as well and she swore she could feel blood threatening to bubble up from the inside of her raw throat.

Arriving at the network of pipes, the girl found that, once again, there was nobody out there to help her. She was completely alone, and exhausted due to the journey.

Bringing her knees to her chest and going into the fetal position, the large girl continued to give out loud, audible cries as tears streamed down her face.

* * *

Cupping his jaws yet again before he gave them a quick and sudden rub followed by spitting out another wad of saliva mixed with salty blood, Blue Villegas was pissed off at the girl that had came to the building he was holing up in. Not only that, but she had punched him hard enough to draw blood and his teeth were still aching.

Still, it wasn't as if it were the first time he had been punched before, and even though the stick was large and croc, it still wasn't the worst that he had ever received. The trainers had done worse to him, so even if she had continued he would have continued to slaughter her with his spear.

Gripping the spear firmly, he thought of what he had gotten in the beginning, when he had first awoken in the arena. A duffle bag with a single package of food, a single bottle of water, a pack of cigarettes, and a picture frame.

Blue had wondered what the fuck all of it was about and why there was no cornucopia and no bloodbath, and he still wondered if it was for something sinister that the gamemakers were cooking up for them. He thought so, because the only reason they'd change the tradition was so that they could make the tributes suffer even more than they already were. He thought that they wanted to make him suffer more than he already was, by giving him only one pack of food and one bottle of water along with a picture frame that was damn near useless on it's own.

They completely underestimated him as, yes, a normal career on a normal year would horde the supplies at the cornucopia and be able to live off the supplies there for days, weeks even, and be comfortable. But when Blue had found the aquarium due to wandering around the arena for a short while, looking for a place to hide from all the other tributes that were out for blood and survival, he felt suspicious. It had been too easy.

Inside the aquarium were tanks full of water, and inside some of the tanks were fish that he could catch and cook. It really did seem too easy and he wondered if the gamemakers had placed him close to that location just so that he could let down his guard and be snuck up on. How funny would it be to see a career get snuck up on and killed within the first couple of hours inside the arena?

Blue didn't trust the place, and looked out for traps of any kind. He didn't find any, but he did find some fishing equipment such as nets, strings, and hooks. He also found mops that were used for cleaning floors.

Coming up with the idea, and feeling that he was one upping the gamemakers for giving him something that should have been useless, Blue snapped the end off one of the mops and tore the picture frame apart before using the mop head strings to tie a section of the picture frame to the busted end of the wooden handle, turning the once nigh-harmless mop into a deadly spear.

It proved effective at catching fish, and it was scary enough that he had scared away that red haired stick when the place was still freshly unguarded.

Afraid that more tributes would show up, Blue started to construct traps. He dug out some of the wooden floor boards, and found that he could easily make the floor hollow since the water tanks needed to go under the floor so that they wouldn't tip over as easily if something were to happen.

He dug out the soft filling and replaced them with wooden spikes made from pieces of desks and chairs. He then weakened the wood by soaking them in the water and hitting them against the wall so that if something as heavy as a human came by and stepped on a certain board, it would collapse under their weight and send their leg into a diabolical trap.

In short, the lack of a cornucopia and being separated from his fellow careers had worked in his favor. He didn't have to worry about being backstabbed, and he could trap the area the way he wanted. He didn't have to constantly worry about what his fellow careers were planning behind his back, didn't have to worry about conspiracies or worry about how long an alliance would last before they decided that he wasn't worth the resources, he only had to look after himself. And he liked it that way.

When he had heard the screams of that brown skinned girl, he had been setting up another spike pit in another part of the aquarium and had to make his way to where she was. When he arrived, he saw her leaving the building, and while he was tempted to just throw his spear at her, he only had the one and didn't want to lose it.

He had to carefully navigate his way thought the rigged floor, looking for the boards that were slightly cracked and off coloured. It was easier said than done, because even though he knew the general layout, the water from the tanks reflected off the glass and cast off a look that made the colours of blue and white swirl around the walls and floor, almost like they were underwater, creating a great camouflage.

Managing to not step in one of his own traps, Blue chased after her, and saw another tribute jogging away from the girl before he skewered her stomach.

 _Another scout._ Blue told himself as he thought of that red haired girl from before. _That red haired bitch was the first scout. She came over to check the place out, then she relayed the information that I was here to the bigger bitch. She was sent to eliminate me, but she didn't expect the place to be rigged with traps, did she? And now she's giving the info to that asshole, and he's going to pass on that the building is littered with traps to that red headed cunt._

Blue knew that they hadn't been allies when they had arrived in The Capitol as they had all resided from different districts, but maybe they had all formed an alliance. No. He knew that they had formed an alliance, why else would they have came to his hideout like that? It was no coincidence that one came in the beginning before two more showed up.

They underestimated his defenses though, and only sent in the big grunt to take him out. That was where they failed, because if they were smart they would have attacked him all at once. But even then he'd have killed them all.

Thinking that they were going to plan an assault, or that the red haired bitch was going to sneak in and take his supplies, he went back to his base rather than pursue the big girl. He hadn't fortified the aquarium enough to make it impenetrable, but if he were inside and caught the others red handed, then that would be one less problem.

He thought of chasing the wounded big girl a second time, but decided that it was better to stay at his base and construct more traps and weapons.

Looking at his current arsenal, he considered it an upgrade, but it could still use some improvements.

Currently, he had two homemade spears. One for throwing if he so desired, and for general use, and another for backup. Stuck between his waist and his belt, when one wasn't being used to make the spikes for the traps, were the two other pieces of the picture frame. They were now used as shivs in case a tribute got too close or he somehow lost both his spears. With the mop head strings wrapped around the handles, they wouldn't hurt his hand and offered better grip than if they had been left alone.

Using soaked and weakened floor boards that he had pulled out of a supply closet, Blue was re-covering the parts of the floor the latest intruder had broken.

 _There will be more._ Blue told himself as he tested the boards, placing a foot on the refurnished floor and added some weight onto it until he heard a subtle groan in the wood. It told him that while it look strong, it was damaged enough that it would shatter if enough weight was put on it. _There will be more people coming here. You've got at least one alliance after you, and they know you've got traps now. They'll be careful when they enter, but hopefully not careful enough._

* * *

The agony, the helplessness, the thought of having something unknown happen to her and having no recollection of how it had transpired, it made her weep deep and long sobs like a frightened newborn.

She felt weak, and there was nothing that she could do about it besides curl up and cry and wonder what she was going to do.

The drive to move forward kept on nagging at her, eating at her even, but she wasn't sure that she wanted to go through with it as wandering around had done nothing but dash at her hopes and spit on her.

She had hoped that she'd find help, where ever she was, but all she she got out of it was a network of pipes that were of bright colours. They were all but useless to her as she didn't know how they worked. Not that she had tried to figure out how they worked anyway, but she didn't see how it would help her cause.

Trying to remember what had gone down before she had came to, the girl thought of what she had last remembered before she had seen the boy in the suit, and came up blank. She really couldn't remember anything, no matter how much she racked her brain. It didn't help that she was in constant agony as well, which hindered the thought process.

Through her blurred vision which was obstructed by tears, the girl looked at herself, and saw only a mess of blood and desperation. And that's all she could tell herself that she was. A mess that was bloody and desperate. She couldn't remember who she was, and that frightened her more than waking up and finding out that she was wounded.

 _What am I going to do?_ The girl asked herself. _Keep on going? It's too painful to even stand up._ But as she looked around, she felt that unpleasant buzz within her body that she was oh so used to. _But this place is a cloud burst, I know what much. I can't stay here._

The girl tried several times to get up, but it took a tremendous amount of effort to even attempt to stand, and she couldn't even get that far before she found herself sprawled out on the ground in even more agony, screaming and further irritating her raw throat.

Leaning against a pipe that sprouted out of the ground like a sturdy tree, the girl continued to cry, wanting to do something, but failing to have the power to do even the simple task of standing and going towards where she felt she needed to go. Feeling too drained and too sick.

Closing her eyes and hoping beyond anything that it was just a nightmare, and that she'd wake up in her home and discover that everything was alright, she waited to drift off and awaken in a better place.

She felt her mind wander off, but it was no less agonizing as she still felt the physical torment that plagued her. And the thoughts that ran through her head didn't help as well.

 _Please._ She begged to anything that would listen. _Please just let me wake up in bed and let me remember who I am. And if you can't do that, then can you at least give me the strength to go where my heart wants me to go? Or just let me die. Let me die and let this suffering end._

The girl heard nothing but her own ragged breathing for what felt like the longest time. Each breath felt as if she was sucking on something inside her chest, and she worried that it was blood. _What does it take to die anyway?_ The girl wondered, thinking that she should at least be unconscious by now thanks to all the blood she had lost.

But then she heard voices. At first they were faint, but then they grew gradually louder, but still incomprehensible.

For the first time since she had came to, she felt hope.

Cracking open an eye, she saw the hazy outline of people. From where she lay, they looked like shadows with no distinguishing features other than their height. She couldn't yet tell if they were male or female, but they were people neither the less.

There were four of them, and they were approaching her. The girl called out to them in a rough and scratchy voice.

"Hey!" She tried to shout, but it sounded like she was trying to be quiet, yet get her hoarse voice to travel. "Hey!" She called out once again. The figures continued to approach her, and she let them get a little closer before she tried to call out to them once again. "Hey!" She said with her dried out throat that seemed to be peeling apart from the inside whenever she spoke. She didn't care though, she needed them to come to her and help her. "Hey!"

The figures continued to approach, and when they finally got close to her, though still looked only of silhouettes, she told them what she needed. "I need help."

"You need help do you?" A male voice casually said to her, like he didn't notice that she was bleeding to death and her foot wasn't covered up like some kind of diabolical cocoon.

"Yes." The girl told him weakly.

"I'll give you some help alright." He told her before she felt blinding agony sweep over her face, mostly her mouth, as she gave out a howl and fell to the ground. "How that for help?" The man said with a malicious tone.

The girl's vision cleared up somewhat, and when she looked at the young man who had said that he'd help her before doing to exact opposite, she saw they were not people that she knew. That didn't surprise her, but what surprised her was that the four people she had seen earlier were glaring down at her like she was the most vile person in the world.

They wore matching red polo shirts and were divided equally among each other, two boys and two girls. "Now," the boy who had kicked her snarled as he grabbed her by her bloody shirt and roughly hauled her to her knees. From this angle, the girl could see that she was much bigger than them, even if a couple of them were almost the same height as her. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Why?" The injured girl asked weakly, wondering why it mattered and why they weren't helping her.

"Because I want to know the name of the person who killed my friend." The boy growled at her.

The dark skinned girl gave a confused look at the boy, wondering what he was talking about. She saw the boy's eyes grow even more angry, along with the scowl on his face before he pulled back a fist and smacked her right in the face, sending a fresh wave of agony through her face an instant before she cried out again. "Don't remember do you? Was he that insignificant to you? How about we refresh your poor ass memory."

The girl then saw the other three red shirts grab her by her arms before they lifted her up, grunting along the way, and dragged her through the maze of pipes and towards a more open area. She wasn't yet back at the stands, still within the grounds of the brightly coloured pipes, when she spotted a ruined bench. What she saw next horrified her.

Right behind the bench was another man, wearing a red polo shirt, laying in a pool of blood. As she got closer, she saw the cause of his death. A bloody piece of wood was being clutched in one of his bloody hands. And because he was laying on his side, she could see the gaping wound at his throat and the blood that trailed from his mouth. Someone had rammed a piece of wood through his throat and he had removed it. He had then died of blood loss.

From the way the bench was ruined, there had been a brutal fight. And was that hair she saw wrapped around one of the bench legs?

"Do you remember now?" One of the red shirted girls asked with venom as the large and dark skinned girl was thrown forwards, landing in the pool of blood face first. It hurt. She felt the blood, and it wasn't hot like her's was. In fact, it was becoming sticky, like it had happened some time ago and had dried up somewhat. "So tell us, where's your partner?"

"Partner?" The dark skinned girl managed to croak out before she felt someone kick the side of her head.

"Don't try to bullshit us," the girl told her. "We know that that isn't your hair on the bench. So where is your partner? The one that helped you murder him?"

The dark skinned girl looked at the body of the deceased, and didn't recognize him. She also had no recollection of ever having a partner.

"Don't know." She groaned.

"Really?" The first male asked with disbelief before she felt her hair being pulled back rather harshly. The girl gave out a scream before she felt her face being smashed against the leg of the bench. She heard a low and sickening crack and felt something solid exiting her mouth. Screaming a little before she grabbed at her mouth, she felt a gap in her mouth where a couple of teeth should have been. She groaned in her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes again. "You want to try again?"

"I..." The helpless girl said, crying. "I don't..."

A kick to the ribs, and her vision turned to static for a couple seconds as she howled.

"Don't want to talk?" The guy asked with a snarl. "Fine, we'll skip the pleasantries."

The large and powerless girl heard pieces of wood being snapped apart, and when she managed to roll over, she saw that the four red shirts all had pieces of thin boards in their hands and became terrified.

"Noooo!" She cried out before the four of them started to beat her with the boards like they were clubs. She felt them strike her everywhere. The face, the head, the chest, the arms, even her legs. She slowly managed to roll back onto her knees and squeezed her arms under her chest, but that left the back of her head unprotected, and that seemed to be their second favorite place to hit her. Their favorite being them kicking her relentlessly wherever their feet could land a blow.

Her lungs felt as if they were collapsing even more, and her entire body became nothing but pain. Every inch of her body felt some kind of horrible pain.

She pleaded with them to stop, but her cries fell on deaf ears and they gave her a beat down unlike anything she had ever experienced.

When a board broke over her body, they grabbed another piece off the bench and continued to batter her without mercy.

They continuously harassed her for answers she didn't have, and she begged them to stop as she didn't have anything to tell them.

They kicked half her teeth out, leaving her mouth a bloody and unregulated cave with the lingering taste of metallic blood. Her face got beaten so badly that lacerations appeared like large, picked on acne scabs. Her left eye became so swollen that she couldn't even see through it anymore. Her lungs were in agony as the stab wounds had been repeatedly hit and she swore she heard and felt the cracking of ribs. The wound near her left wrist, the one that had been stabbed, had been widened up due to one of the red shirt's jamming a piece of wood through it and twisting. And her legs... She didn't think that she could ever walk again, even though she hadn't heard anything break there, they felt destroyed.

She felt as if she was on fire and looked as if she had been attacked by feral animals. Her head felt weak and dizzy. Everything hurt and seemed to have their own pulse.

The only thing she could do was sob, moan, and plead pitifully.

Around her, she could hear the red shirts panting heavily, like they had just ran a long distance and were trying to get their wind back. They had finally stopped assaulting her, but she worried that they'd start up again at any second.

"She's not talking," one of the male spoke up through his panting. "What are we going to do now?"

That was when she blacked out.

It felt as if she had only blinked, but at the same time, it felt like hours. When she opened her eyes again, she felt pure torment coursing through her body. She looked around her and saw that the four red shirts had grabbed a limb each and were carrying her. They were talking to each other. She couldn't understand what they were saying as they sounded so far away.

Another blackout.

Still carrying her. More torment. More talking.

Another blackout.

They were pulling her clothes off. More torment. More fear. What were they doing? Were they going from beating her to raping her? The girl feared what she'd see next.

Another blackout.

When she came to again, she saw that she was facing something she hadn't seen before. She saw uneven coils of metal that looked like wire. But as she looked closer, she saw the wickedly sharp points on it that told her that it wasn't just any ordinary wire, but razor wire.

The big girl gave out a gasp of horror.

"Good, you're awake," the first male said to her from her side. The girl recoiled away from the guy and landed on the ground with a thud and a flood of agony. She screamed, even though it caused her lungs to ache so badly she thought they were going to explode. "Now we can finally end this."

The large girl then felt hands grab onto each of her arms and legs before she was hoisted up into the air like a hammock between two trees. She screamed as it felt as if her limbs were going to pop out of their sockets and whatever bones weren't broken were going to shatter. "You made our friend suffer before he died, so we're going to return the favor."

They swung her back and forth, back and forth, building up momentum, and the girl could clearly see what they were going to do to her. She begged and pleaded, but they continued to build up momentum until they finally released her with one mighty swing.

The big girl flew through the air and landed into the field of razor wire, feeling the razor wire slice through her skin and multiple places all once while she fell through the wire. More blood expelled from her body as she howled.

She didn't think that she'd be able to, but she somehow became able to thrash around and try to escape, only to get sliced up some more.

The razor wire dug into her flesh before it sliced her open, and it was beyond words how painful it was. The girl howled as the section of razor wire she was thrashing around it tangled around her nude body, penetrating everything it touched and turning it red with her blood. She was like a frightened bird trapped in the devil's net.

She continued to scream as the razor wire tightened up around her body until a line of razor wire sank into her throat and sliced it open.

A dozen seconds of unadulterated agony later she was finally unconscious.

Not too long after, Soya Boykin, was finally free.

 **A/N: Hey guys, it was kind of weird writing Soya's fugue state of mind, but I hope you all didn't mind it too much as I couldn't say her name during that time.**

 **I'm also trying to write an original story, of which I'm dividing my time amongst two of them.**

 **One is about a despondent ex-soldier striking up an odd friendship with a suicidal girl as they explore the injustice of society, feeling powerless, and their past demons.**

 **The second is about a teenager "volunteering" at a summer camp in an attempt to atone for something that he feels is his fault, and making sure that it doesn't happen again.**


	45. Party Towards Ruin

When he had finished going through the medical center, Trail felt disheartened at the results of his search.

He didn't expect to find much as Thor and Terra had looted the building and all but destroyed nearly everything that they hadn't taken. The machine that he tried to fix was a fruitless effort as well as nothing he seemed to do worked. But then again, he was from a district that was known for agriculture, not technology, so it didn't come to that much of a surprise that he couldn't fix it. He had no idea what any of those machines would have done anyway, but he had been hopeful that it would have helped him in the long run. Or had at least offered him something in the now.

There were some cylinder like tanks that had valves on top of them, but all they did was hiss out air when he turned the valve. Trail recognized them as oxygen tanks that the medics would use if someone wasn't breathing, but he saw no use for them here and now within the arena. He also wasn't going to take them with him as they were too heavy to lug around with no immediate purpose.

Still, he did find one thing that would help him.

He had taken apart a cot that had been stripped of it's canvas sheet and now held one of the metal legs that he could use as a club of sorts. It was light and he guessed that it would work in a pinch if he needed to defend himself. He certainly didn't want to get hit in the head with it, so neither would anyone else in his opinion.

Still, it was upsetting that even if there was no cornucopia, that he knew of, the bronholes were still getting supplies while the rest of the tributes, like himself, were fighting for the scraps and whatever else they could hopefully find.

 _Even on the best of years it's a struggle for us._ Trail thought as he walked through the entrance of a large, dilapidated house that was near the medical center. It looked as if it had been abandoned and left to rot as it wasn't in the best of shape, even on the outside, and there were cobwebs and dust everywhere. Paint was peeling from the walls and in some places, he could see the insides of the walls. There were dark green stains on the walls that he guessed was mold, and for a moment, he wondered if it was safe to be inside the house without some kind of assisted breathing device. Trail could smell the smokey remnants of a fire and wondered if Thor and Terra had been in the house before him. Or maybe it was that pyro, Nick. It could have been anyone, but those names came to Trail first. It made him feel that his chances for finding items in the house had greatly fallen. _And even without the bronholes, we're fighting against each other for supplies._

His grip on the cot limb tightened as he listened for any signs of activity, but he heard none. Even so, he kept an eye and ear out for any sudden noises or movements as he didn't want to get blindsided. He had just avoided getting into a fight with two bronholes, and he wasn't looking forward to a fight with just a cot leg and a bundle of paper plates at his disposal.

 _Maybe nobody's here and that fire has been out for quite a while now._ Trail told himself in an effort to remain calm. _Who knows, maybe you're all alone in here and there's nothing to worry about right now._

Trail noticed the fireplace within the room and looked inside it. He saw that while the fire had mostly died and it wasn't producing heat, that there were still trace amounts of glowing red embers. It told him that whoever had been here had been gone for quite a while. Either that or they had made a quick fire, were still here, and just hadn't kept it alive for whatever reason.

Trail temporarily thought about lighting the fire up again, but thought better of it since he was only going to stay in this house in search for supplies that had been missed before going out and looking around the arena again.

Not wanting others to think that someone was still inside and go looking for him in the off chance someone came in while he was looking, Trail jabbed the still glowing embers with his metal cot leg and sent the ashes flying, killing what little life the fire still had. The smell of ash and fire instantly grew stronger before it died down again.

 _Hopefully now people won't be on guard as much if they do enter._

Looking around the house, Trail didn't think that any tribute could have covered every room this house had as it was around three floors tall and pretty wide. It gave him hope that he might actually find something.

He picked a random room to go towards first and walked towards it, still trying to stay alert for anything unexpected.

The second he got close to the door, a figure clad in a white sheet shot out from behind the wall with a high pitched and terrifying scream.

Startled at the thing that appeared out of nowhere, Trail let out a scream of his own as he backed away quickly, only to fall on his butt and back away some more, figuring that a tribute was going to stab him and kill him due to their sneak attack.

Only they weren't. The figure that had the white sheet draped over them wasn't making any kinds of movement towards him and just stood like a stone statue.

Trail, with his heart and mind racing, saw this and became confused. He wondered what they were doing when it suddenly retreated back behind the door as quickly as it had popped out.

"What the hell?" Trail muttered to himself as he picked himself up from the floor and slowly, cautiously, made is way towards the door again. This time, he held the clot leg out in a position that was ready to strike.

Trail walked towards the door, and when he got close again, the same figure in white jumped out from behind the wall and let out a scream. Trail was once again startled and jumped back, but he managed to swing his makeshift weapon a few times in blind panic. The metal leg hit nothing but air before the figure retracted back to it's original position. "What the hell is that?" Trail wondered out loud.

He thought of what it could have been and wondered if it was dangerous to touch when he took a couple of steps forward, determined not to take a step back when it jumped out again.

When it jumped out in front of him for the third time, Trail smashed where it's head was with the metal club, only for the figure to rattle in it's place. It didn't make a sound, and that creeped him out a little. Trail didn't move in stunned silence before he quickly reached up and grabbed the white sheet just in time for it to retreat back behind the wall.

With the cloth off, Trail saw what had scared him so much. It was a training dummy, the same kind that was used during the three days of weapon's training back in The Capitol. A head, torso, and a bed sheet by the looks of it, all attached to some mechanical device hooked on the wall. Trail looked at the bed sheet in his hands and thought to himself. _Man, that thing scared the shit out of me. I seriously thought I was going to die there._

Trail began to chuckle at himself, thinking of how stupid he had been when the dummy flew out again, accompanied by the scream, and hit him right in the face and chest, knocking him to the ground. All the boy could do was groan as he held his face with both his hands. _I shouldn't have stopped paying attention._

He then picked himself up and moved into the room before the dummy could do anything else to him.

* * *

 _"If you could be anything in the world, what would it be?"_

 _"I'd want to be a dancer."_

She looked at the stage in front of her. The stage that seemed to be in near perfect condition as it looked clean and polished to a shine. In front of it were beautiful red chairs that would hold the show audience as they watched the performances that captivated their attention.

Anna, wanting to explore the arena some more after she had finished taking apart some of the machines at the previous building, had stumbled upon something that she had only seen in her dreams. And she was staring at it like she couldn't even believe that she was there. She was awestruck, and for a few moments, she forgot where she really was. But when the reality hit her in the face, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that the only way she had been able to see a real stage that didn't involve getting sent to your death had been in the arena.

 _Ain't that a buzzkill_. Anna said to herself with a sigh. _But damn isn't this place beautiful._

Anna looked the stage and marveled at it, feeling like a little girl that was all smiles. She imagined many people watching her as she did some moves up on the stage. She had gotten so into her imagination that by the time she snapped back into reality that she had to pry herself away from the stage and tell herself that there were more important things to be doing than thinking of having District Five build a proper stage so that she could dance in front of people.

Since she had been little, she had been hoping that she could make a job out of dancing. Not like those girls in the shady places that populated the underbelly of District Five, or a place like The Sinning Temptation in The Capitol, where girls would do so called dances by rolling their hips and moving their arms in seductive manners as they peeled their clothes off. No. She wanted to be something more than that. But there were no room for the dancer she wanted to be.

To Anna, it would have been perfect. It was a way to have fun, make money, and burn off her hyperactive body while also retaining dignity and not be seen as a slut. Sadly, the only dancers in District Five were those that striped and fucked.

Sighing and shaking her head, Anna walked through the theatrical building in search for supplies. She found a stand that offered food and drinks before leaping over the counter and smashing open the locked cupboards with her lightweight bat. She found a few packages of that disgusting food and a few bottles of water along with some packs of cigarettes. She was pleased with herself as she had food and water along with building supplies to make and create things back at her workshop that doubled as a base.

There was a machine that looked like it could cook something, but she didn't know how to work it. There was a metal bowl suspended inside the machine with a mouth like lid, buttons on the outside of the machine, and no lights on to tell her that it was actually operational. She wondered if it was like a microwave or something else that generated heat to warm food up. The side of it advertised popcorn, but Anna didn't even know what popcorn was. She looked around and found a small plastic jug of light, golden brown thing that looked like solidified raindrops. _So, this is popcorn I'm guessing._

Next to the plastic jug was a much smaller jug, but this one was cylinder in shape and had a piss yellow liquid inside of it that was labeled as liquid butter. Anna took both jugs and placed them inside her duffle bag.

Anna then looked at machine and pushed some buttons but nothing happened. Anna flicked the on switch, and like she expected, nothing worked either. _If I want some of this stuff, I'm going to have to find a circuit breaker._

Anna searched around some more, and while she found some things such as brooms and mops, she couldn't find the circuit breaker. _All the better._ Anna thought as she looked at the stage, wishing that she could see it with the lights shining onto them _. I'd probably want to waste time and dance on that stage and pretend my dream job was coming true._

The more she looked at that stage, the more she was tempted to get on it and dance.

Don't do it, Anna. She told herself. The entire nation is watching. _If you start dancing on that stage, everyone will see you._

She looked to the exit, and back to the stage. She felt as if she was being pulled towards it. It was like it was calling her name and wouldn't take no for an answer. 'Please dance with me.' It cried out.

 _Screw it._ Anna declared as she walked towards the stage. Up the stage. She then dropped her duffle bag and looked out to all the empty seats in the building. The ones at the bottom level before looking at the ones that were on the second floor. Anna imagined that the place was packed and people were cheering and clapping for her. She pictured that everyone she knew was there cheering her on and waiting in anticipation for her to perform.

Anna raised her arms and the audience swiftly fell silent.

"Hello everyone, my name's Anna Leptick, laugh it up while you can." Some of her imaginary audience gave out a nervous chuckle, like they didn't know whether they should or not. "I'd like to thank you all for being here to see my very first performance. I'd like to thank my mom and dad for raising me through all the hell I caused. My friends for being there for me. And I'd like to give out an especially big thanks to my lovely fiancee, Vida Amplitude, for always being there for me, no matter what." Anna then became chest fallen when a thought came to her. _Because... If we had switched minds and bodies, I don't think I'd have stayed with me. After all the shit I put her through._

Sighing in an attempt to rid herself of those awful thoughts, Anna resumed her speech. "I used to be a cocaine addict and..." She stopped herself before smacking herself in the head several times with her free hand. _Stupid stupid stupid impulses._ Anna bitterly said to herself as more memories of the past came to her. _I hurt her. Why did she stay? When I was at my worst... Why did she stay?_

Anna hit herself harder, repeatedly, before she sighed once again. "Sorry about that." She said to her imaginary audience.

She noticed blinking red lights on the ceiling, mostly in the corners, and saw the cameras pointed in difference directions of the theater. She wondered if her performance was going to be broadcasted to all the people in Panem. _Nah. Maybe there's got to be something more exciting going on in the arena than a girl from Five dancing._ "So without further ado, I shall dance."

So she did.

* * *

 _"Out of the way losers!" Fifteen year old Anna Leptick shouted as she kicked a air filled leather ball towards the goal with all her might._

 _Anna felt the ball hit her foot an instant before it started to fly towards the cluster of people that were huddled in the center of the square shaped metal post. The rules were simple, kick the ball between the two side poles, get it past the defenders, and score a point. The team with the most points in the end won. Easy._

 _Only, not really, as the ball shot toward the goal, hit the top of the metal square, and shot back right at the kicker. Anna hardly had any time to react as the leather ball, which was only filled with air, but felt hard as a rock, hit her right in the face._

 _Anna gave out a yelp as she felt pain radiate from her face and raised her hands to her face. "Son of a bitch!" Anna cried out as she glared at the ball with all the hatred she could muster, hoping that it might explode or something. She kicked the ball again in frustration, ignoring the yells of the opposing team calling her a dirty cheater._

 _"Anna!" She heard her best friend cry out. "You alright?"_

 _"Yeah," Anna said with a nonchalant wave of her hand, putting on a face that was as stoic as she could make it. She was glad to see that there was no blood on it. "Yeah, Vida, I'm fine. But god, why won't this stupid thing go where I want it to?"_

 _"Did you remember to aim?" Vida asked._

 _"Of course I remembered to aim," Anna told her bitterly. "I kicked the ball towards the goal and it just ricocheted back. God, I swear, this game hates me."_

 _"It doesn't hate you," Vida said in an attempt to comfort her. "You just-"_

 _"Need to practice more?" Anna said with annoyance. "Yeah. Yeah. Practice kicking a ball around. What kind of practice do you need for that? It's blind luck it is."_

 _"Do you even know what to do?" Vida asked._

 _Anna looked at her like she was stupid._

 _"Of course I do," Anna answered. "Kick it as hard as you can towards those pole things and get it past everyone."_

 _It was simple in theory, one that everyone got the hang of pretty quickly despite that Flicka, the victor that was introducing the game towards everyone, had left to talk to the class' teacher for whatever reason. The young victor had told them the basic rules. There was a square post that they needed to kick the ball through, people needed to defend the post, and whoever shot the most balls into the goal won. Simple._

 _So when she left, the class of kids formed two teams, and each took a turn shooting the ball towards the opposite team goal._

 _Everyone was excited to try out something new for physical education class. Normally it was just running around or playing hide and seek, but not anymore. Not since victor Flicka came to the rescue. She said that it was a very popular sport in The Capitol, and Anna could see why. Watching the people try and guard the insides of the posts as a ball flew towards them was suspenseful. Would they move or would they stay and risk injury? And when some of them dived for cover in fear or instinct, it was hilarious._

 _Anna herself preferred to be someone that kicked the ball rather that someone defending the post, but her aim was as bad as her ball catching. Everyone said she had bad hand eye coordination, which was funny coming from a district that needed good hand eye coordinator when it came to fixing electronics and working as a power outer._

 _"I think it takes more than that." Vida countered._

 _"Like what?" Anna asked as another classmate took a turn kicking the ball at the opposing team. "Luck?"_

 _"Maybe." Vida answered as the ball was blocked by opposing five classmates._

 _"You don't know, do you?" Anna countered, knowing that Vida knew as much about the game as everyone else did. Basically, kick the ball towards the goal as hard as you could from the center of the patch of dirt they called a field, and maybe get it past the bodies protecting their points like a row of bodyguards._

 _"Well there has to be something other than kicking it really hard and-"_

 _"When you figure it out, then tell me." Anna told her as the first half of the game ended. They had scored four points._

 _Anna dreaded the next part of the game. When she had to get between the posts and try to defend against the ball getting past her and her teammates. The ball was never where her hands were and she was angry at that._ I don't have bad hand eye coordination. _She told herself._ It's just traveling too fucking fast for me to see.

 _Anna choose a spot where the ball was the least likely to go towards, but because Vida was a good ball stopper due to being tall, quick, and long armed, she was placed in a spot where the ball was more likely to show up. Anna looked towards her friend and saw her stretching her arms over her head and bending slightly to the side. Anna looked at the way Vida's face scrunched up as she closed her eyes and her lips tightened and how she was lightly moaning._ God she looks beautiful. _Anna thought before she realized what she had thought of and quickly tried to wipe it away with a shake of her head._ She's your best friend god damn it! You can't think of your best friend like that! It's gross! Besides, she doesn't like you like that! So stop thinking like that!

 _Anna had had thoughts thoughts for quite a while and really wanted them to stop._ Yeah, I like girls, and I like her, but not like that... Thoughts like that are a conductor for lightning rods and zap chaining!

 _The next thing Anna knew, she had the wind knocked out of her and she was struggling to breathe as she clutched her gut from the sudden attack._

 _"Nice save, Anna." A girl beside her happily told her. Anna was going to tell her that she hadn't meant to save it, and not in a pleasent way, but couldn't get the words out and just wheezed._

 _Upon seeing who she was talking to, she was glad that all she did was wheeze._

 _With shiny black hair, dark olive skin, and seductive green eyes that made her feel weak and warm, Anna raised a hand with a thumbs up as she gave a strained smile. Anna let out another pitiful wheeze towards Nina Faraday as Nina kicked the ball back to the opposing team so that they could try again. "You having a good time?" Nina asked with a seductive smile. Her teeth were white, and it made Anna feel somewhat self conscious with her own lightly stained tobacco grin._

 _"Yeah..." Anna managed to wheeze out, the pain fading slowly from her stomach._

 _"That's good." She said, her smile making Anna feel weak as she thought of how great she looked, even with a forehead of pimples._

 _Anna had had feelings for Nina for a while now. Nina was beautiful, and Anna heard that Nina liked girls as well. Nina was also nice and didn't seem to mind when Anna was off her meds. It made her laugh. She had a pretty laugh. "Heard it was your birthday today." Nina continued._

 _"Yeah..." Anna repeated, not knowing what else to say. Anna hadn't really talked to Nina that much and had only interacted with her a little, so being right beside her, and not having any place to go to escape was getting to her. Not that she wanted to escape anyway... Kind of._

 _"You got any plans for later?" She asked, leaning closer so that their shoulders were touching. Anna felt her breath momentarily hitch in her chest before she recovered an answered._

 _"Going to hang out with some friends and drink some beers." Anna replied as she looked away, suddenly feeling shy as Nina leaned in closer. She wished she hadn't taken her meds so that she could talk easier. More impulsive Anna would have acted first and thought later._

 _"Oh yeah?" She asked in a low, sultry voice._

 _"Yeah..." Anna replied once again. "Why? You want to come? I mean... We've got room for one more. If you like. You've got to bring your own food though. I mean, bring your own alcohol. I mean... You can bring food too. I'm a neon after all. Dim! I'm a dim! Not a neon!" Anna began to feel flustered because she kept on messing up just talking to Nina. It was embarrassing and she felt her face heating up like an oven. Anna gave out a frustrated growl as she turned away and hid her face in her hair the best she could._

 _She heard Nina give out a cute laugh, and it just made Anna feel even more embarrassed._ Kill. Me. Please.

 _"You want me to come over?" Nina asked with that sweet voice of her's._

 _"Yeah." Anna quickly told her, not even hesitating. She suddenly wondered if she sounded too eager. She wondered if she sounded desperate. It didn't make her feel any better. She suddenly wondered if it was worse to be more impuslive._

 _"I'm glad to hear that," Nina told her, still talking in a sexy tone. "And you won't regret it either."_

 _"Oh yeah?" Anna asked as her ears perked up. "Why? You got something planned?"_

 _"Yeah. I'll come over, hang with you and your friends, and after that, we can party for real, just the two of us."_

 _"Just... Us?" Anna asked, her face just getting redder and redder. Hotter and hotter._

 _"Yeah," Nina said, heavily leaning right against her, which made Anna's chest tighten. "Just us two. You've got all that energy that I bet you're just dying to let out, and I've got two things that'll make you feel just wonderful. One is this girl right here." She said as she leaned her head against Anna's. Anna leaned her head away, but the person she was beside gave her a worried and confused look when Anna had her head on their shoulder, so she was forced to lean back towards Nina once again. "Another is a drug that'll make me as energetic as you are off your meds. We can share some of it, and when night comes, I'll make you live up to your name. Miss. Anna. Leptick. Seizure."_

 _For the life of her, Anna hoped that her hair was covering her face enough that Nina wouldn't see her smile. It was so huge and so wide that she felt as if her face was going to split open. She also hoped that Nina wouldn't see that her face had changed at least ten shades of red. But even though her face might have been hidden, Anna wondered if Nina could feel the heat radiate off her face. Her face was so hot that it was sweating. And the shakes. There was no way Nina wasn't feeling those shakes. She was shaking as if she hadn't taken her meds today. She didn't really like taking them, and just found an excuse not to take them later._

 _"I'd... Really... Like... That..." Anna said between giggles that she was doing her best to suppress. Her fists were so tight she thought her nails were going to puncture her palms. Anna was fighting the desire to turn and kiss Nina then and there as dirty thoughts flooded her mind._

 _"And I heard you like to dance." Nina whispered to her, to which Anna felt even warmer. She didn't think it was possible, but it happened. "You can give me a private one later. With... Or without... Clothes."_

 _"Maybe I-" Anna started before she felt something hard hit the top side of her head. "Ahh!" Anna cried out, turning her head to see what had hit her, to discover that it was the leather ball full of air._

 _"Hey!" Vida's voice shouted with some bite behind it. "Get your heads in the game! Do you want to lose!"_

 _Anna looked at her friend, and wasn't sure whether to be thankful or not. She was debating whether to glare or to smile at her, and felt her face doing both. Anna looked away when she meet Vida's eyes._ Crap crap crap. This is so weird. Umm... Um... Find a way to make this less weird. Umm... _Anna's eyes fell on the ball._ That'll do.

 _"She's a jealous little bitch isn't she?" Nina said as she pointed her head towards Vida._

 _"She just wants to win." Anna said, defending her friend as she picked up the ball with both her hands. "And we are going to win" Anna then turned towards the guy next to her. "Hey, we're going to win, right?"_

 _"Uhmm..." The boy stuttered._

 _"That's right," Anna said, not waiting for him to finish. "We're going to win!" Anna then pointed to the opposing team. "Hey! You hear that? We're going to win!" Anna then let go of the ball, and before it hit the ground, she kicked it with all her might. "YEAH!"_

 _The ball went flying, to the side, in the wrong direction. Anna watched it quickly travel towards the school building, before she saw and heard glass shattering._

 _In that moment and that moment only, it seemed that the world had gone completely deaf. The world was devoid of sound, and Anna could only hear her own thoughts. A whole second passed, but to Anna, it felt as if maybe five had passed instead. Almost like the world was catching up with her rapid firing thoughts. Each one worse than the last._

 _Then she ran away. She was the first one that did, and the rest of her class seemed to snap out of their trance the second she bolted._

 _When she heard the teacher yelling something at them, Anna dared to look behind her, and saw that more than half the class had disappeared, and whoever hadn't disappeared were close to doing just that._

I guess that means no more soccer for us.

* * *

 _That night..._

 _That night was the conductor of my life falling apart._

Anna remembered that night vividly. It started out simple enough. Hanging out with some people, eating food and drinking beers. But then when it was just her and Nina, Nina brought out a white powder that you snorted up your nose, giving you a rush of euphoria and a sense of well being. But while Nina became hyperactive, Anna had calmed down. It was like the medication that the medics had given her, but more powerful, and it made her feel good. The downside was that it didn't last all that long. Less than an hour. Longer if you continued to chase the high and snorted some more.

And while Nina hadn't been the first girl Anna had had sex with, Nina had been the roughest, and at the time, the best one she had been with thanks to all that energy she had and her long fingers.

 _I wanted to be with her._ Anna thought to herself as she continued to dance on the stage. _I thought I loved her. And... And I thought she loved me back. But that was just my stupid younger self thinking that. We went out together for a while, but it didn't work out. As great of a fuck she was, I should have seen that the class bi-sexual tease was nothing but a lightning rod for me._

 _Whatever, I found someone better than her. Someone that didn't run out and cheat on me._

Anna finished her dance with a jumping cartwheel that she nearly didn't land before she bowed her to imaginary audience, which was applauding her.

Then to her surprise, she heard some clapping that was louder and more real than the rest. It made her mind jump back into reality and saw that nobody was in the plush seats of the theater. Anna whipped her head around, looking for the culprit, and saw a boy with a blood spattered white shirt and black pants with dark red fabric covering the left side of her face, standing in one of the aisles between the sections of seats, clapping.

"Nice moves." Falco Naylar called out to her, which Anna immediately reeled back and gave out a sharp gasp of surprise through clenched teeth. "Though, after seeing Splendor at The Sinning Temptation, you're aren't really that special."

"God damn mother fucking just why are god..." Anna sputtered out as her mind fixed itself from the shock of having someone watch her perform. Sure the video cameras were rolling, but she could at least pretend that there was something more interesting going on and she was alone. But with someone in front of her... In the flesh... _What am I right now? A human lightning rod?_ "How much did you see?" Anna finally spat out.

"Enough." Falco calmly answered. That didn't make Anna feel better as she turned her wig, that she had manged to keep on her head, around to hide her face turning red.

"Why are you here?" Anna asked, now that her mind had calmed down somewhat. "And is that blood on your shirt?"

"Looking for supplies, more specifically proper bandages" Falco answered as he pointed to the messed up part of his face. "And yeah, it is blood. I got into a fight."

"With who?" Anna asked as she picked up her lightweight bat.

"Diesel." Falco answered as he looked away for a brief second. "Look, I'm not looking for trouble, I'm just, you know, lost and looking for supplies."

"Were you looking for trouble when you killed Diesel?" Anna asked skeptically. _He's killed one of us. He hasn't killed any mutts, he killed one of us. A tribute._ That thought made her tighten her grip on her bat _. Is he planning on killing me too? Was that whole I protect women thing an act to get half the tributes to think of him as a non-threat? Was he fucking with us the entire time?_

"No!" Falco cried out as he once again pointed to his bandaged face. "Anna, look what he did to my face!"

"He could have been defending himself!" Anna countered.

"He attacked me first! And I really don't want any trouble! I just wandered in here and saw you dancing. It was cute."

At that, Anna let out a throaty hum as she felt her burning face become brighter. _I should kill him. I should kill him. He'd be one less person standing in my way towards home. But he isn't a mutt, he's a person. But he killed a person as well, I'd totally be in the right. But... He's a person._

Hating her thoughts of humanity Anna clutched her bat harder, feeling her knuckles tighten. "I hope you don't have ill intentions with that weapon, Anna." Falco said as she saw him withdraw a short, sword like weapon from it's holster. "I'm no bronhole, but-"

"You know how to use it." She finished. "I figured."

She then picked up her duffle bag. "I'm out of here." Anna told him as she walked on the other side of the seated section and headed towards the exit. She'd rather not get into a fight with him and get stabbed.

"Wait! Anna!" Falco cried out.

"What?" Anna asked as she turned to face Falco.

"Is there anything that I should know about? I don't know this area and I don't want to wander around anymore than I really have to. And, I'm more or less lost..."

"Aren't we all?" Anna replied, thinking of how she was in the same situation. She didn't really know where good locations were other than the place that was packed with machines, her hiding place, the place with the impaled horses, the train cart that looped around in the sky, and where Zora was sleeping. Anna wondered if Zora was still sleeping there. "All I know is that this arena is weird. There's mutts that look like people."

"They're the ones wearing red shirts, right?"

"Yeah."

"They also-"

"Talk like people, I know. And Zora might be in the area, so be careful if you plan to stay in this part of the arena."

"Thanks for the advice," Falco responded. "But as someone that killed someone, don't you think that there's another thing that's weird about the arena, other than the fact that there's human like mutts and the sky is always dusk?"

"What?" Anna asked with curiosity.

"There was no cannon blast signalling Diesel's death." Falco answered. At that, Anna did find it strange that she hadn't heard a cannon fire. Because even if Diesel was the only person that had died during her duration in the arena she would have at least heard that. But no, she hadn't heard it. She was now wondering how many other tributes had died.

"That is strange." Anna replied before she once again turned away from Falco and headed towards the exit.

She got out of the building and looked the sky once again. It looked like it was the same time as it had been since the beginning. Dark, but still bright enough that she might have been able to see a fair distance ahead of her if the street lamps ceased to work.

 _Human like mutts. No cannons. No cornucopia. We're all split apart from each other. Given meager supplies at the beginning. And a sky that fucks with your perception of time._

With all that going through her mind, Anna couldn't help but feel even more zap chained than she already was. But then again, it was the nature of the games, and of the gamemakers to make the tributes feel zap chained. Because it was fun for the aviators to see the tributes in as much distress as possible.

Readjusting her set of blond generator hair to set it in it's proper place, Anna headed back towards her base, occasionally looking back to see if she was being followed.

She wondered if she had made the right choice. Because if she had fought and won she'd be one step closer to victory. But there was the risk of getting injured. And if she had lost the fight, she'd be dead. Even so, she felt that somewhere out there, there were people telling her that she was in the wrong either way.

 _Whatever. They're probably still zap chained about me walking away from a sleeping Zora. Probably calling me retarded. A coward. Weak. Non-victor material. But right now, I'm still alive and able to fight another day._

* * *

Although Trail had been keen on searching the large, musty, dirty, house, he hadn't expected to be in the situation he was in right now.

He wanted to think of it as a good thing, because he had found a couple packets of food and water as well as some matches, but he really hated jumping out of his skin because of those training dummies that shot out in random places. Hell, one of them had dropped from the ceiling and made him nearly wet himself because of the fright that coursed through his mind and body.

But no, it wasn't the dummies that jumped out to him that was the worst thing that was happening to him. No. The worst thing was that Trail could not remember which rooms he had and hadn't gone into. And because there were a lot of rooms in the house, and it was like an untouched corn field that you just walked into and did your best to not break, Trail soon found that he was lost.

To him, because everywhere looked nearly identical and there was no clear way out, as well as the feeling that he was going around in circles, and the fact that he hadn't paid that much attention during the times he should have, he didn't know where he was.

That made him panic as his mind wondered if he was going to be inside the ruined house until he died. _Why do I just blank out like that?_ Trail bitterly asked himself as he walked aimlessly through the house, seeing as when he tried to go somewhere meaningful, he just ended up more lost. _Why do I get so damn lost easily? It's just like back home, can't trust myself to go off alone. But then again, when haven't you been lost in this arena?_

Trail kept on wandering the house in search of supplies and an exit, finally thinking of taking one of the bed sheets off a dummy that scared him. _At least I'll be a little bit warmer when I have to sleep on one of these beds._ Trail told himself as he stuffed the bed sheet into his duffle bag. The bed sheets on the dummies were clean and free of stains, unlike those that were on the beds. It made him feel a little bit safer knowing that there was less of a chance of him catching something with a clean sheet. _Or maybe I won't sleep on those beds._

As he ventured further into the house, the more he found that the house smelt foul. Like something was rotting inside one of the rooms. He really did wonder what the smell was, so with another goal in mind, one that was easier to follow through with, Trail ventured towards where the putrid smell was.

As the stench got stronger and more foul, Trail wondered if he really wanted to know what it was. After all, he had smelt some pretty foul things back in District Eleven, and those that smelt the worst were the things he'd like to put out of his mind. But his mind was made up and he continued towards the source.

Finally, after finding where he thought the smell was coming from, Trail braced himself and prayed that he wasn't walking into a cloud burst. With that thought in mind, Trail's mind flashed some thoughts of what could go wrong.

The grip on the cot leg tightened as Trail approached the door he was sure the smell was behind. It was strong and smelt rotten.

Not breathing through his nose, Trail grabbed the door handle with his left hand and held his weapon at the ready, fully expecting something worse than a dummy to fly out and attack him.

He then turned the knob and opened the door, and was greeted with a blast of hot and rancid air that made him cover his mouth with his free hand as he took a step back. Within the confined and mostly closed off room, the smell had time to linger and settle, making it much much worse inside the room than it was outside of it. Not only that, but there was the lingering smell of chemicals.

 _Holy fuck!_ Trail shouted in his mind as he looked inside the room. He saw a soiled bed that looked like it had seen better days, a window that was broken with shards sticking out of the frame like they were teeth. Of which the lower jaw was bloody. And in the center of the room was a body. A naked body that had been decapitated. And surrounding the body was a pool of blood that looked like it had been drying for at least a couple of hours.

 _Holy fuck!_ Trail repeated in his mind once again as he finally found the head that had been separated from the body. It's mouth was closed, but the eye, the eye that was still there and not just a gaping hole, looked like they had experienced pure torment before they had died. The wall behind the head had a spatter of dried blood on it, like the head had been thrown at it.

Trail recognized the guy. It was that guy from District Nine. Harvey.

"God, what the hell happened?" Trail muttered out as he looked around and saw a duffle bag on the bed.

Dead bodies didn't bother Trail that much as he had grown used to them in District Eleven, whether it was people falling from trees, dying of heat stroke, or if the peacekeepers were executing someone. Still, within this house, the smell did get to him as it was stronger than he was used to.

Trail went over to the duffle bag, and found it empty. Sighing into the hand that was covering his mouth and nose, Trail threw the bag to the floor. _Figures. Of course they'd take the goods after killing him. After all, they took his clothes._

Trail wondered if Thor and Terra had been the ones to decapitate Harvey. After all, Thor had a sword and both of them had been specked with blood. _Pretty sure they were the ones that did this._ Trail told himself.

Trail exited the room and continued to make his way through the house when a thought came to him. _Wait? If they killed him, why didn't a cannon fire? And why is his body still there? Shouldn't they have taken it away or something? They've always done that in previous games. But then again, this isn't an ordinary game. Saw that from the get go when there was no bloodbath, no cornucopia, and the aviators supplied me with paper plates, food, water, and cigarettes. But... What does this mean? And why are they doing things this way?_

Trail tried not to think about it and just tried to focus on getting out of the rotting house, worried that he had stumbled upon a bronhole wire ground, but his curiosity made him start to think of ideas of why things were the way they were.


End file.
